Suzhou, 1957. A chill still lingered in the late spring breeze. Fresh buds had sprouted on the plane trees lining Yong'an Alley, and now and then a few pedestrians hurried across the flagstones. Xu Ning sat by the window. The tea in her cup had gone cold, but her gaze remained fixed on the entrance to the alley, as if she were waiting for someone.
“Ah Ning, it’s time for dinner,” her mother called from downstairs.
“Coming,” Xu Ning replied softly, but she didn’t move.
Twelve years. She had waited for him for twelve whole years.
Her fingers absently rubbed the faded edge of an envelope. It was the last letter Chen Jinnian had sent her, back in 1949. The paper had yellowed and the ink had blurred, but the words at the top, “For my dear Ning,” were still clear.
“The situation is in turmoil, and our army has been ordered to retreat south. Once things have settled down, I’ll return home and marry you. Don’t worry, and don’t wait for me. If you meet someone worthy, give him your life.”
But she had stubbornly ignored the words “don’t wait.”
