Chapter 52 Life's Journey
Nanjiu came out of Aunt Qin's house and ran into Zhenmin in the village. Zhenmin called out to Nanjiu from a distance, rushed over to her, looked her up and down, and finally felt relieved when she saw that her complexion had recovered.
"Boss Song didn't make you angry, did he?" Zhenmin asked nervously. Nanjiu laughed: "What did he make you angry about?"
"He got you so angry that day that you cried, and the story has spread everywhere. People in the village have been saying all sorts of things these past two days."
Nan Jiu was puzzled and asked, "When did he make me cry?"
"On the day he just came back, his face looked so ugly."
"Actually," Nanjiu said with a smile in his eyes, "I didn't hear what he said that day at all..."
“…”
Nanjiu was walking towards the wooden house, and Zhenmin happened to be going to the tea garden, so the two of them walked along the way.
Nan Jiu suddenly remembered something and asked Zhen Min, "Have you seen Da Huang these days?"
"Da Huang? The dog on the hill? I haven't seen it. Now that you mention it, I haven't seen it for several days."
"I saw it go into the woods a few days ago, and I haven't seen it come back since."
Zhenmin was stunned for a moment. Nanjiu's eyes swept across her face: "What's wrong?"
"It might..." Zhenmin's expression hardened, "It's gone."
Zhenmin sighed. "There's a saying in the village: When an old dog knows he's going to die, he won't die at home. He'll go out and find a place to end his life."
Nanjiu and Zhenmin separated at the end of the tea ridge.
The moment she turned, a wave of sorrow washed over Nanjiu. She remembered the dream, remembered Dahuang turning his head to look at her. In those wet eyes, there was no pleading, no pity, only a knowing farewell. To this land, to the scent of tea, to this fleeting world... a silent farewell.
Ultimately, everything in this world must eventually depart. Just like every crossroads in life, whether you turn left or right, it ultimately leads to a destination—farewell.
A profound feeling of powerlessness took root in the soil beneath her feet, sprouting and entangling her, suffocating her. Her struggles, her pain, her repeated weighing of giving up and holding on here, in the face of the world, the tea mountains, and life and death, were like being crushed by a giant wheel.
The wind grew colder, setting her frail body shivering. She stood on this land, her past and her faith crumbling into ruins. The sorrow that welled up from her heart was not just for the loss of a life, but for herself. She was becoming an executioner, tearing down with her own hands the monument built of faith. This determination, unfathomable, was a slow, sobering torture, each blow of the knife swirling with unspeakable pain.
She walked back to the cabin and opened the door.
Song Ting heard the noise and turned to look at her. The tears that had accumulated in her eyes rolled down silently the moment he turned around.
His brows furrowed, and he strode to the door, pulled her into the house, and closed the door. "What's going on?"
"Dahuang is dead..." Her voice choked, and tears fell like beads from a broken string.
Song Ting lowered his eyes and asked anxiously, "Who is Da Huang?"
"Dog..." she sobbed.
He was silent for a few seconds and then asked, "The dog on the hill?"
She nodded vigorously, her tears welling up even more violently, and she could hardly stand.
Song Ting's expression became complicated: "Is there a possibility that the dog's name is not Dahuang?"
"It's dead..." She spoke incoherently, her shoulders hunched, like a reed bent by the wind and snow.
Song Ting sat back at the table, pulled her onto his lap, wrapped his arms around her trembling body, and gently stroked her back: "You're already an old dog of ten years old. You can't walk far. It's also a relief."
She was crying so hard that she couldn't breathe.
He hugged her tightly and whispered, "You've only met that dog a few times, how could you be so attached to it? You're crying like this." He paused and said, "Don't cry. I'll go to the village and get another one to raise."
She just shook her head and leaned on his shoulder, her tears flowing like a flood, soaking his clothes.
Song Ting had known her for so many years, but he had never seen her cry like this. It was as if all the suffering in the world had been poured into her body alone.
He noticed something and lowered his voice: "What happened?"
His clothes were soaked with her tears, and the body in his arms trembled incessantly. The tremors had a certain rhythm, each one hammering harder and harder at his heart. He gradually understood that these tears, flowing like a dam, were not for the departure of a dog. Instead, they were for another cruel departure, a separation that she had to complete with her own hands.
He held her tightly, a cold panic strangling his breath. Was the part of her life that she was trying so hard to cut away from him, or was it the self that once risked her life so recklessly?
She was already standing on the edge of the precipice. He clearly felt every tremor, every bit of pain, every inch of her struggle. All her questions turned into silence. He simply stroked her back gently, as if holding a dying flame in the cold wind.
This crying lasted for more than half an hour, until her voice became hoarse and she could not cry out, and her body was convulsing with sobs. She was finally tired of crying, and she fell on his shoulder and fell into a deep sleep.
His arms around her were still gentle, like holding a fragile dream. From an angle beyond her sight, the expression in his eyes peeled away bit by bit, silently dissipating, and finally turned into a desolate expanse with no end in sight.
He knew this tiny place couldn't hold her forever. He'd wanted to keep her until after Wednesday, thinking that after that day, fate's decree would be reversed. But how absurd was that idea? She was such a vibrant and independent soul. If that was her choice, after Wednesday, there would be thousands and thousands more "Wednesdays."
From the beginning to the end, he was trapped only by himself who refused to let go even though he was trapped in the ruins.
The blazing sun outside the window sank silently into the west, its orange light streaming into the room. A single ray of light rested on Nanjiu's eyelashes. Startled by the warmth, she slowly opened her swollen eyelids, breaking free from the long darkness and fully awakening in the light.
She pushed herself to sit up, and when she looked up, she met Song Ting's deep eyes. He sat quietly in the shadows of the corner, the sunlight stopping on the ground a few steps away from him, shrouding him in the gloom. His eyes shifted slightly, landing on the table. Nan Jiu's gaze followed his movement.
On the dark wooden table lay the loss guarantee agreement signed by Nanjiu herself, her car keys, and a box of emergency contraceptive pills.
Song Ting raised his hand, picked up the agreement from the table, and tore the paper into two pieces.
He lowered his head, his voice suppressed in his chest: "I have transferred the money to you."
He held the torn agreement in his palm, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into the trash can: "Let's go."
She sat quietly by the bed, the trembling deep in her pupils spreading and quickly flooding her entire eye sockets. She didn't cry anymore, didn't even blink, just stared fixedly at the void before her.
The air was stagnant, and even time refused to flow.
After a moment's silence, she stepped out of bed. The moment the refrigerator door opened, the cool air and dim light intertwined, illuminating her nearly transparent profile. She bent down, took out the vegetables, washed them, and cut them.
His eyes followed her every movement. The induction cooker lit up with a blue light, and the water droplets at the bottom of the pot quickly shrank and evaporated. She poured oil and added crushed garlic cloves. The aroma exploded, but it failed to break the suffocating silence.
This was the last meal she prepared for him, without words or eye contact.
She turned off the fire and filled the bowl, her movements as gentle as if she were completing a ritual.
"The meal isn't ready yet, so remember to unplug the rice cooker after you finish. The wound is scabby, so don't scratch it if it itches. Take off the gauze when you get back, because keeping it covered won't help."
The aroma of hot food wafted from the table as she turned to put on her windbreaker. When her fingers touched the box of birth control pills, his expression finally shifted. Finally, she tucked the last shred of possibility for their future together, along with the car keys, into her windbreaker pocket.
She changed into her shoes and walked to the door. She opened the door of the wooden house, fished out the spare key from her pocket, and placed it on the windowsill: "Return it to Zhang Jiang for me."
The light from outside the door depicted her figure as a shadow, and then she melted into the light, and the light cut off with a sound. Leaving behind the abandoned silence in the room, it fell heavily around him.
......
The car hadn't been driven for several days, and the windshield was covered in dust. Nanjiu turned on the wipers, and after the windshield was washed, his vision gradually became clear.
As she started the car and drove towards the village entrance, Zhenmin's figure appeared in the rearview mirror, constantly calling her.
Nanjiu slammed on the brakes, opened the door, and got out. Zhenmin ran over from a distance, panting: "Thank goodness we made it."
She stuffed the candy cake in her hand to Nanjiu and said, "We just separated at the tea garden, and I saw you standing there for a long time without going back. I had a feeling you were leaving, and I guessed it right. I don't know how long it will take you to drive, so you can eat it on the way."
Nanjiu took the cake and glanced down: "Did you make it yourself?"
Zhenmin nodded.
"You're really capable, and the buns you make are delicious too."
Zhenmin smiled and said, "Next time you come, I'll make something else for you."
"Next time..." Nanjiu lowered his head, the tip of his shoe gently pressing the soil, "I don't know when that will be."
"Come here with Brother Song during the holidays." The years have brought her some unbearable memories, but her eyes still retain simplicity and sincerity.
Nan Jiu looked at her and smiled, but did not answer.
"I haven't had time to ask you, how did you end up with Zhang Jiang?"
Zhenmin's eyes drifted away, as if searching for an answer. After a moment, she pursed her lips and smiled, returning her gaze to Nanjiu's face. "Didn't you say that? The material level can't replace the spiritual level."
Those words froze Nanjiu in place. Those long-forgotten words from years ago resonated with her, striking her in the present moment with unerring precision. She lowered her gaze, looked at the shadow at her feet, and smiled.
Zhenmin opened her arms and hugged her gently: "Take care."
Nan Jiu got into the car and looked at Zhen Min in the rearview mirror until her figure became more and more blurred.
Outside the car window are flowing tea bushes, like countless travelers with their heads lowered, silently retreating away in the rearview mirror.
Will she come back in the future? Even she herself doesn’t know the answer.
Now, she, that city, the company she built, the man she fought alongside—every thread was tightly entwined. Forcibly separating them would only trigger a chain reaction. Those investor agreements, those ongoing projects, those tough nuts she and Lin Songyao had gnawed together. At this point, pulling out would only result in losses for both.
She can make a decision calmly, but she has to pay the price of broken bones for her decision.
Every complex game behind this is a war without smoke.
She didn't know how long or how brutal the war would be if it broke out; she also didn't know what kind of storms and changes would be caused if she took action.
It concerns the future livelihood and development of every comrade-in-arms who has fought alongside her; it concerns the deeply binding business alliances with her partners; it concerns all the chips she relies on to gain a foothold in the existing power structure.
Therefore, she had to lead the army in person to protect everything she wanted to protect.
Maybe nothing would remain, maybe they would be trapped in this storm for a long time. Before she knew the outcome, she couldn't make any promises.
But only by facing the challenge can we talk about tomorrow.
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