Next Stop: Jiahe Wanggang

On the eve of the 2010 Asian Games, at the newly opened Jiahewanggang Station, I clutched my job offer from the Suijian Testing Center and happened to meet Yang Jie. She stood beneath the sign reading “North to the Airport, South to the South Railway Station,” turning a test report between her fingers, her profile gentle and calm.

Caught in the power struggle between Gan Sen and Luo Rong, the only peace I found was in those chance encounters with Yang Jie at the station. We waited for trains side by side, talking about workplace scandals and office politics, while the wind at Jiahewanggang became the secret backdrop to our meetings. One rainy night, I held out my umbrella and asked, “Want to take the next stop together?”

We often met in secret in the transfer passageway. She always had hot milk tea ready for me. She hoped we could stop hiding our relationship, and I promised to take her away once I had found my footing. But I didn’t know that this station was filled with countless diverging paths.

During the Wenchuan earthquake relief effort, I met An Zhir an. Though we formed a bond, I kept my promise to Yang Jie. But she began climbing the social ladder, and in the end, I saw her on Luo Rong’s arm as he accepted a gift box.

I waited for her all night at Jiahewanggang. Reeking of alcohol, she said she wanted to take a shortcut, then turned and disappeared onto the southbound platform. As the song goes: “At the next stop, we’ll go our separate ways, breaking up on a night at Jiahewanggang.” With red-rimmed eyes, I let love slip away.

Later, I uncovered fraud in the subway testing process and decided to support Zhong Ji’s whistleblowing. An Zhir an helped me gather evidence, but we discovered that the mastermind was her father, Liao Changqing.

After narrowly escaping danger, I saw An Zhir an again at Jiahewanggang. In tears, she begged me to forgive her. Looking at her, I thought of Yang Jie and said softly, “Neither of us was wrong. It’s just that the wind on this platform blew us in different directions.”

Once the storm had passed, Gan Sen fled, and the testing center changed its name without changing its ways. Before leaving Guangzhou, I visited Jiahewanggang one last time. The crowds were still there, but the woman who used to bring me hot milk tea was gone. Those diverging paths of joy and sorrow became the final image of my youth and love.