Chapter 2: Beijing(1)

Jiang Wanju grew up in a second-tier city. Her father was a senior executive at a foreign company, while her mother worked in the public sector.

To most people, this was an ideal family setup. But Jiang Wanju’s childhood was far from perfect.

Her father was sociable and boastful, often inviting friends over for drinks. These gatherings always ended the same way—him completely drunk, throwing up everywhere, leaving the house in chaos. Her mother, on the other hand, was competitive and image-conscious. She loved comparing everything with her coworkers—whose husband had a better job, whose house was bigger, whose child had better grades, whose kid had more talents…

Still, despite everything, her parents loved her.

Due to the one-child policy, even though her father always longed for a son, Jiang Wanju remained their only child. But their way of showing love was different from what she wanted.

Especially her father, who loved bringing up the same argument over and over again—

“Look at Lao Liu’s kid. His dad beats him with his shoe whenever he steps out of line. Have I ever hit you? Isn’t that enough?”

“Look at Lao Wang’s daughter. She started cooking as soon as she entered middle school. Have I ever made you step into the kitchen? Haven’t I spoiled you enough?”

The following parts of the text will be scrambled to prevent theft from aggregators and unauthorized epub making. Please support our translators by reading on secondlifetranslations (dot) com. If you are currently on the site and and you are seeing this, please clear your cache.

“Nssj yv…”

Kkydt Eydfw oyp yzoyup nywtbv kd yd ldezlpp nunzl sq nsxryakpsdp, sa pbl oyp eayttle yzsdt cu bla xsvbla vs psnkyz lhldvp yde tyvblakdtp. Yyucl kv oyp clnywpl sq vbkp ldhkasdxldv, cwv cu vbl vkxl pbl alynble lktbvb tayel, pbl tayewyzzu elhlzsrle y pvasdtla pldpl sq plzq.

Gv vbkp ytl, xspv jkep olal tskdt vbaswtb rwclavu—xyvwakdt rbupknyzzu, tasokdt nwakswp ycswv vbl srrspkvl plm, yde clnsxkdt xsal nsdpnkswp sq bso vblu prsjl yde kdvlaynvle okvb svblap.

Jwv dsv Kkydt Eydfw.

Fbl qswde bla rllap nbkzekpb. Jzwpbkdt oyp nbkzekpb. Vyppkdt dsvlp oyp nbkzekpb. Mbl csup obs rwzzle bla byka yqvla nzypp fwpv vs tlv bla yvvldvksd? Mbl xspv nbkzekpb sq yzz.

Jwv Ubld Hbswald oyp ekqqlaldv.

Tl oyp vyzz—ps vyzz vbyv Kkydt Eydfw bye vs zssj wr yv bkx. Tl oyp dsvbkdt zkjl vbl xld pbl oyp wple vs pllkdt. Tl oypd’v zkjl bla qyvbla’p nszzlytwlp, obspl clla clzzklp xyel vblx zssj zkjl vblu olal plhlayz xsdvbp raltdydv. Lsa oyp bl zkjl vbl csup kd bla nzypp, obs alljle sq polyv yqvla rzyukdt cyzz yde dlhla pllxle vs oypb vblka qllv.

Tl bye y jkde sq pvlyeu, xyvwal ralpldnl—zkjl y aspl yv kvp rlyj czssx.

Jiang’s father instinctively reached for his cigarettes, about to offer one to Chen Zhouren. But the latter simply smiled and declined. After understanding the situation, he went back to his car, grabbed a new tow rope, and started discussing with Jiang’s father how to get the car out of the pit.

It was almost like magic—effortlessly, he solved Jiang’s father’s problem, pulling the car free.

And that wasn’t all. He could tell that Jiang’s father was new to these roads.

“What kind of fuel does your car take?” he asked.

“93,” Jiang’s father answered.

This region had plenty of gas stations with 93-octane fuel. But if someone needed 97, they’d have to head into the city. 90-octane was even rarer, with only a handful of stations carrying it.

Chen Zhouren nodded and offered some advice out of kindness. “Whenever you see a gas station, fill up. If possible, bring two extra cans of fuel. There aren’t many stations on the highways here, and you might have to take detours on the national roads.”

Jiang’s father nodded vigorously.

“Keep some extra food in the trunk, too. You’ll need it at some point,” Chen Zhouren continued. “In southern Xinjiang, the signal is weak. Be careful about GPS drift—” Then, he suddenly paused. “Hey, is this your daughter?”

He had just noticed Jiang Wanju standing nearby. She had walked up next to her father and was staring at him.

“Yes,” Jiang’s father smiled. “She’s about to start high school.”

“Not in high school yet?” Chen Zhouren remarked. “She’s so tall already?”

When he smiled, a single dimple appeared—on his right cheek. There wasn’t one on the left.

Jiang Wanju had always hated her height. She had shot up like a bamboo stalk after spring rain—thin, lanky, and awkward. There was nothing graceful about it, yet adults never stopped complimenting her growth.

But now, for the first time, she didn’t mind it so much.

That was the last thing Chen Zhouren said to her. Jiang Wanju, on the other hand, didn’t say a single word throughout the whole interaction. Even when her father told her to call him “Uncle,” she stubbornly refused, holding her breath.

In the end, it was her mother who stepped in to smooth things over, explaining, “She’s just shy from studying too much. Doesn’t talk much.”

Chen Zhouren only smiled—he wasn’t the type to hold it against a kid.

Before leaving, he handed Jiang Wanju a bag of candies. He said they were a freebie from something he had bought, but since there were no kids in his car, he figured she might as well have them.

Perhaps because they owed him a favor, Jiang’s father—who had always told her never to accept food from strangers—actually allowed her to eat them.

The Northern Xinjiang Grand Loop wasn’t the longest route, but it wasn’t short either. After watching the spectacular sunset at the Hegui Ghost City, they drove straight to the small town of Burqin.

Jiang’s parents marveled over the wild fish caught from the Irtysh River, the only river in China that flows into the Arctic Ocean. Meanwhile, Jiang Wanju sat with the bag of candies in her lap, slowly savoring each one.

The flavors were strange. The wrappers were identical, but every piece tasted different. She could never guess what the next one would be.

Sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, salty—chocolate, milk, matcha, orange… everything was in there.

Jiang Wanju was currently eating a very mild matcha-flavored candy—so light it felt like a breeze, swirling in circles before slipping away from her mouth, leaving nothing behind except a faint hint of sourness at the center. Perhaps the orange candy had accidentally mixed its flavor in.

At this point in their journey, a small detour occurred. After leaving the vibrant, multicolored Five-Colored Beach, Jiang’s father decided to take a half-loop around Kanas, traveling from Beitun to Koktokay and the Colorful City.

The last piece of candy was eaten while Jiang Wanju was soaking in the ancient sea hot springs of Wucai Bay. That night, her parents had a fierce argument. She caught bits and pieces of their shouting—it turned out that her father hadn’t deleted certain text messages from his phone, and some of the words had deeply wounded her mother. The fight escalated to the point where they even mentioned divorce, dividing assets, and custody. In the end, Jiang Wanju was left soaking in the hot spring alone.

The candy in her mouth was the last one, so bitter that she couldn’t help but frown. She even suspected it was bitter melon-flavored, tormenting her taste buds. She scooped up a handful of water and splashed it onto her face, her wet eyelashes and hair sticking together. The scent wasn’t pleasant, and the sharpness of it made her tears fall instantly.

But her parents never divorced. The next day, they were all back in the same car heading to Urumqi, then caught a flight home. No matter how fiercely they fought, by the time Jiang Wanju reported for high school, they were as affectionate as ever, sending her off in perfect harmony.

High school life was nothing like Jiang Wanju had imagined. There were no vibrant club activities like in novels. The boys around her were just slightly taller versions of her middle school classmates, with more acne on their faces. The academic workload was heavier, and her parents argued even more. If she left her seat for just a moment, she would return to find her desk covered in newly distributed test papers.

There was little joy in her high school years. The teachers always extended their lessons, dragging them on endlessly. The two weekly PE classes were often reduced to one—if that. The PE teacher was either sick or on the verge of getting sick. Under immense pressure, the only things Jiang Wanju could clearly remember were:

A cup of hot rice milk bought on a spring morning, with peanuts and glutinous rice ground together.
An ice-cold Coke during a summer lunch break, condensation forming tiny beads on the aluminum can.
A handful of roasted chestnuts in the fall, crackling as they were peeled, filling her mouth with warmth.
And skewers of grilled lamb after evening self-study, cut into fingernail-sized pieces, evenly roasted until they dripped with oil. The fat sizzled as it hit the charcoal, releasing an irresistible aroma. A layer of fennel powder, chili flakes, and sesame seeds was sprinkled evenly over the meat, sending wisps of smoke curling into the night air—

And just like that, three years passed in a haze.

Jiang Wanju scored high enough for her parents to boast about and was admitted to a prestigious university, just as they had hoped. There were photos, a teacher appreciation banquet, and a class reunion—

Her coming-of-age ceremony and college acceptance letter arrived at the same time. Along with them, Jiang Wanju received a bouquet of roses and officially embarked on her first romance.

Her first love’s surname was Dou, with a single given name: Qie. He was the class president of the neighboring class and had been admitted to the same university as Jiang Wanju. A typical science and engineering student, he had a slightly shy smile and a single dimple on his right cheek. Excellent in both academics and character, he was the kind of boy parents would be more than satisfied with. His mother was colleagues with Jiang Wanju’s mother, and his father was a businessman.

But Jiang Wanju couldn’t tell if she actually liked him.

Their first time holding hands was right after she received the bouquet of roses. Maybe because he was nervous, Dou Qie’s palms were sweaty. The brief hand-holding lasted less than a minute before she let go under the excuse of buying soda. As she paid at the counter, she discreetly wiped the moisture off with a tissue. When she got home, she washed her hands three times with soap.

Why had she agreed to date him? Jiang Wanju stared at the running faucet, tilting her head as she thought about it for a long time. Then, suddenly, she remembered.

It was because, when he confessed, he had smiled—and that little dimple on his right cheek looked just like Chen Zhouren’s.

In truth, her memory of Chen Zhouren was already blurry. He was just a man she had met by chance during a trip, someone she had probably only remembered because he had once “saved them in a time of crisis.” Over the past three years, his image had faded from her mind like a puzzle losing its pieces, until his face completely disappeared.

Jiang Wanju had once tried reconstructing his appearance using the faces of movie stars, but it was useless—like trying to glue shattered glass back together. No matter how she pieced it, it was never the same.

And Dou Qie?

He was just a tiny fragment of that broken glass.

After smoothly entering university, Jiang Wanju’s weaknesses from middle and high school gradually became more apparent. She never forced herself to “fit in” with others and couldn’t understand why people had to go to the restroom together, eat at the cafeteria together, or go shopping together…

Unwilling to sacrifice her own time for meaningless socializing, Jiang Wanju gradually became more solitary. She didn’t mind at all—at least it saved her time and spared her the effort of maintaining relationships that held no value for her future.

Dou Qie was the same.

Jiang Wanju never devoted too much time to their dates, and eventually, he succumbed to the passionate attention of a senior student. One day, someone sent Jiang Wanju a photo: Dou Qie and the senior from his club walking side by side under golden ginkgo trees, the distance between them subtle yet intimate.

Jiang Wanju said nothing. At the time, she was intensely working through practice problems, preparing for the Level 2 Computer Proficiency Exam. Seeing the photo, she didn’t feel sad at all—just a sense of relief, as if thinking, Ah, finally, I’m free.

That evening, she took a taxi to Houhai, grabbed a bottle of beer, and drank while letting the cold wind blow against her. Her foggy mind slowly began to clear.

That was when Chen Zhouren appeared.

As she drank, she heard a man’s voice, tinged with amusement:
“Drinking beer in this cold weather—aren’t you freezing?”

Jiang Wanju turned around and saw Chen Zhouren.

It was like the invention of papermaking—thin pulp clinging to a wooden frame, gradually emerging from the murky water. Every fiber became sharply distinct as the water receded, crisp and clear.

The final puzzle piece clicked into place. The glass was whole again.

Stepping out from the blur of memory, Chen Zhouren stood before her—alive and real.