Xu Yanchen was aloof and profound, living with a meticulous, icy reserve. Only he knew that there was one person he could never let go of. Xu Yanchen had wondered more than once what circumstances might bring him face-to-face with Han Yucheng again. Perhaps at a business meeting, perhaps in an ordinary supermarket, perhaps at a street corner. Perhaps they would never meet again. Of all the possibilities, only that last one left him unable to breathe.
Like a man possessed, Xu Yanchen stood at the gate of the courtyard. His cigarette burned down as he waited for Han Yucheng to turn the corner at any moment. Yet he was also afraid Han Yucheng would appear before him. He felt as if a demon lived inside him, constantly sending out tendrils. It was an addiction of the heart, a poison only Han Yucheng could cure.
The autumn rain was chilly, fallen leaves drifting at his feet. Roses bloomed in cold splendor by the wall. A few cigarette butts lay nearby, and the man's overcoat had grown cold. He stared sharply at the man taking shelter beneath the attic across the street.
The hood of a gray sweatshirt obscured the man's face. A few loose strands of hair fluttered in the wind. He lifted his chin slightly, held out a hand to catch the drizzle, and looked toward the roses across the street, where he saw a tall figure.
Across this vast sea of people, across all these passing years, Han Yucheng seemed to have crossed a thousand mountains and rivers just to stand before you once more and softly say, “I hope you’ve been well.”
My boy, thank you for keeping me company on this slow, clumsy road.
Xu Yanchen, I’ll meet many interesting people, but I’ll never leave you behind.
May everything beautiful be cherished, and may every missed encounter eventually come around again.
