It was only many years later, when Fang Beisheng had become a father himself, that he finally understood the resolve and reluctance in Fang Shu’s eyes that day. Just as no one can hold on to youth or the feelings that come with it, he deeply regretted not giving her one last hug or trying to make her stay. Though she had been hurt until she was utterly broken, in the end she still chose to smile and say goodbye to every one of them.
And then, many more years passed.
A little girl with pigtails sat on a wool rug, holding a photo album bigger than she was. Her tiny fingers turned the pages one by one as she studied them intently.
“Hey, Dad, who’s this pretty big sister?”
Fang Beisheng glanced over. A hint of longing entered his eyes. “Xiaoyu, that’s your aunt.”
“Your aunt?” The little girl looked at the photo of eighteen-year-old Fang Shu and beamed. “Auntie’s a dancer!”
In the old photograph, Fang Shu swept her water sleeves out in a pose like a horse treading on a flying swallow. It was her first performance onstage, and the tension in her stiff expression was still visible.
Who took this photo?
The answer was obvious.
Fang Beisheng patted his daughter’s tousled head and remembered what Fang Shu had said the day she left home:
“I want to know, as a father, did you ever think of me as your daughter? Even for one day?”
Did you?
Did you?
Dad, why did you stay silent back then?
The sea of stars once glittered brilliantly, but in the blink of an eye, it fell silent as a dead sea.
Time says nothing, yet it answers every question.
