Will You Be Home Tonight?

You said, “A poor man shouldn’t fall for a rich girl.” I turned and glanced at the vermilion-lacquered gates, with their carved beams and painted rafters. From there, you could see the flag over Tiananmen Square.

My heart sank. I hid my feelings and asked you again where you were.

After four years, you told me you were in Beijing.

I was dazed for a moment. Outside the window, all was silent. The immortal had drunk himself into a frenzy and kneaded the white clouds into a mess. Suddenly, I remembered that back then, you hated me most of all. That was why I went to Norway, where the snow lay so deep, so far away from you.

The WeChat chat window flashed. You asked me, “Are you coming back tonight?”