Perhaps it was the uniquely tranquil atmosphere of a rainy night that allowed the two people in the car to converse so congenially.
Jiang Muhe wanted to continue the conversation along the lines of what Liang Youyun had said, but his phone rang.
He answered, replying in Dai language.
Liang Youyun couldn’t understand much, only piecing together a few words based on experience. He was likely talking to his mother, telling her he was returning to Mengla.
When he spoke Dai, his tone was exceptionally gentle, even the filler words were soft. This language endowed him with a tender, touching side, unlike the tough, profound exterior he usually projected.
“Was that your mother on the phone just now?” Youyun asked after he ended the call.
Jiang Muhe: “Mm, telling her I won’t be returning to Jinghong these two days. So she doesn’t worry.”
Youyun: “You have a very good relationship with your mother and father.”
Jiang Muhe: “They treat me as their own son.” He glanced at her again and asked, “Director Zhang must have told you some things about me, right?”
“Yes.” Youyun nodded. “A little.” But curiosity stirred within her. She simply wanted to know his original reason for staying here, so she boldly said, “But I… I’d like to know more.”
Hearing her say this, Jiang Muhe was moved. She might be trying to understand him, even if unconsciously.
Her eyes were like crystal, clear and sparkling. If he weren’t driving, he would have really liked to look at them carefully, for a long time.
“I’ll tell you when there’s a chance in the future,” he said, pointing ahead. “We’re almost there.”
They first took Yu Xiang home.
Liang Youyun had called Yu Xiang’s mother in advance. Aunt Yunan was waiting at the door early on. As she pulled Yu Xiang into the bamboo house, she scolded, “Oh, my dear! How did you get so drunk!”
Aunt Yunan wanted to give Youyun some fried pork rinds made for the festival. Youyun declined, saying she was too full to eat. Aunt Yunan had to give up, instead inviting her to come for a meal at their house tomorrow. Youyun agreed, hugged her, and said, “Happy New Year, may you be well and prosperous!”
Seeing the unfamiliar man who brought them back, Aunt Yunan asked who he was, if he was Youyun’s boyfriend.
Youyun quickly waved her hands with a laugh. “No, no, just an ordinary friend.”
Liang Youyun’s home was a two-story building behind the village committee. The first floor was used for storage; she lived upstairs. It was specifically provided by the village for stationed cadres. Thanks to national policy support in Xishuangbanna, the material provisions were excellent.
Outside, the rain gradually lightened, turning into a fine, dense drizzle.
Jiang Muhe held an umbrella, escorted her out of the car, and walked her to the door.
Liang Youyun took the key from her bag. Instead of immediately opening the door, she turned and smiled at Jiang Muhe standing in the rain. “It’s too late tonight, so I won’t invite you in. Thank you for driving us back today!”
Jiang Muhe maintained a smile throughout, polite and focused.
Youyun didn’t quite dare to meet his eyes. She always felt he looked at her too intently, making her feel flustered.
“Get some rest early,” he said.
“Yes, you too. Drive safely,” Youyun replied.
She stepped onto the stairs, her back to him, sensing he was still standing there, unmoving.
She didn’t know what to say and didn’t turn around.
But then she heard Jiang Muhe call her name, his voice low and slightly hoarse: “Liang… Youyun.”
She turned back. He stepped forward.
Their breaths were close enough to feel.
“How can I contact you in the future?” he asked directly, looking into her eyes.
“…” Youyun slapped her forehead with her right hand. “Oh my god…” This unreliable brain of hers. She quickly stepped down the stairs, hurried into his umbrella in a few strides, took out her phone, and said, “I forgot such an important thing, I’m sorry! I’ll add you on WeChat right now!”
“It’s okay.”
Jiang Muhe also took out his phone from his jeans pocket, opened the QR code scanning page, and waited for her friend request to come through. Only after he accepted it did he shift his gaze back to her face.
Liang Youyun looked up and suddenly realized how close the two of them were under the umbrella—closer than a normal social distance. She could even feel the warmth of his skin beneath his clothes and the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
The fine rain, the streetlight at the corner, and the two under the umbrella were all enveloped in a soft yellow glow.
Youyun hastily took a step back, gave him an awkward smile, and pointed toward the door. “Well, I’m heading up then!”
Jiang Muhe nodded, making a phone gesture with his left hand near his ear. “I’ll wait for you to arrange the meal.”
“Okay!”
Liang Youyun went upstairs and turned on the light, only then hearing the roar of a car engine outside the window. She couldn’t help but walk to the window, pull back the curtain, and look down. The road was quiet, shrouded only in misty rain.
She sat on the sofa, opened her phone again, and clicked on Jiang Muhe’s profile. His WeChat name was “Wooden Box.” Youyun couldn’t help but laugh—this guy was really suited for dad jokes.
Out of habit, she changed his display name to his real name. Since she added many people for work, she was afraid she’d forget who was who if she didn’t. His profile picture was a vivid red sunset surrounded by colorful auspicious clouds. It felt somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it before. After all, the sunsets in Xishuangbanna were incredibly beautiful every day, and any random shot could turn out stunning.
He didn’t post much on his Moments, but it was better than nothing.
The most recent post was from yesterday during the Dai New Year celebration—three photos: a casual shot of the New Year’s feast, decorations at home, and a scene of Buddhist worship.
Very traditional, very grand, very warm.
Youyun scrolled down. He hadn’t set any privacy restrictions, so she could scroll all the way to the bottom.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single photo of himself. Only one picture showed his hand—Youyun recognized it; his hands were very nice. His slender fingers held a crystal glass filled with bright orange liquor. The caption read: “To you.”
As if addicted, Youyun scrolled through post after post and suddenly noticed a pattern in his Moments updates. He always posted on two specific occasions each year: one during the Dai New Year and the other on October 12th. Youyun couldn’t figure out why—perhaps these two dates held special significance for him.
Just as she had finished browsing Jiang Muhe’s Moments, a WeChat message came through.
Jiang Muhe: “I’m already home.”
So fast—she hadn’t realized she’d been sitting there lost in thought for fifteen minutes.
Youyun stared at the message, unsure how to respond. She tried to calm her heart, repeatedly reminding herself: Jiang Muhe isn’t a simple person; you don’t really know him, don’t be fooled by appearances; women often get moved by beautiful coincidences, but most of the time it’s just wishful thinking; Jiang Muhe is someone who stays here, you’re the one who’s leaving. Even if something were to happen, it would end without resolution, so there’s no need to expend what little emotion you have. Staying friends means there’s still a future ahead.
So, she straightened her attitude and replied: “Mhm, thank you for your hard work today! I’m really very grateful! [Cupped fist salute]
After a while, he replied: “Goodnight.”
She was about to type “good night” but suddenly felt it was a bit ambiguous. Putting aside everything else, just considering her ex-boyfriends, they were all adept at using this phrase to comfort a woman’s lonely heart. It would naturally make one think, “Finally, there’s someone saying good night to me.” But in reality, after saying “good night,” they would still go clubbing as usual, cheat as usual.
She replied: “Mhm, good night! 🌙”
It was the most formal reply possible, more like representing the entire Manle village in saying “good night” to Jiang Muhe.
Jiang Muhe opened a can of cold beer, poured it into a crystal glass, shoveled some ice cubes from the fridge into it, and drank while checking WeChat.
Liang Youyun’s WeChat name was “Everything Is Floating Clouds.” Jiang Muhe instinctively smiled. Her profile picture was a close-up of her covering one eye while looking at the camera, her eyes appearing tired, with a weary yet beautiful charm. Her Moments were filled with posts, mostly about the work she had done while stationed in the village, almost like reports for her superiors—a way to claim credit.
There were also portrait photos of her wearing Dai Lü ethnic clothing.
Jiang Muhe tapped to enlarge the photo, carefully admiring her face. Truthfully, he couldn’t quite define his feelings toward her. She was undoubtedly attractive, but what drew him to engage with her was her temperament—always unpredictable, appearing tough on the outside, yet soft-hearted and deeply loyal. This contrast made him feel that this woman was full of vitality, housing an interesting soul within her body!
He flipped back to the chat page again, staring blankly at the two messages Liang Youyun had sent back, each one addressing him with “you” and “mhm,” which annoyed him.
He sat down on a barstool, raising his glass toward the side table. On the side table were several photo frames, with the center photo showing two young men wearing special forces camouflage training uniforms. That was the last photo taken of Yan En and him before Yan En passed away.
Jiang Muhe asked the photo of Yan En, who was smiling brightly with gleaming teeth, “Why does it feel like she’s so guarded against me? Am I that scary?”
Unfortunately, Yan En in the photo could no longer answer his question.
He recalled how, during missions back in the day, he and Yan En were always partners, working together seamlessly and sharing a close bond. Yan En said he was like his own brother and wanted to take him to meet his parents, to share their parental love. Jiang Muhe even joked with him, saying, “After meeting your parents, should we meet your girlfriend too?”
Upon hearing this, their comrades teased, “Can that be shared too? That would be too exciting! I’ll do it! Let me!”
Yan En would always scratch his head sheepishly and say, “I haven’t dated any girls yet, but once I meet someone who makes my heart flutter, I’ll definitely rush to confess and bring her home!”
The comrades would joke with him, asking, “How do you know when your heart flutters? What does it feel like?” Yan En would perform comically, saying, “It’s like this—when your heart pounds fiercely, a slight ache stirs deep inside, and you constantly think of her, no matter what you’re doing, then congratulations, you’re smitten!”
Yan En didn’t forget to tease Jiang Muhe either: “Brother Mu, you have experience, isn’t that how it feels?”
The comrades listened attentively, gathering around Jiang Muhe with smiles, eagerly awaiting his gossip.
“You little rascal, asking for trouble!” Jiang Muhe wrapped an arm around Yan En’s neck, pulling him down, and scolded, “Brother here hasn’t been home since enlisting. Where would I get that kind of experience?”
Everyone laughed and roughhoused, none willing to back down…
The past is vivid, as if it were still unfolding yesterday, yet today, the vibrant person is forever frozen in a photograph.
Jiang Muhe finished the wine in his glass, forced to halt his reminiscence, his gaze settling on the far edge of the side table.
A small photo frame held a picture of a burning red sunset, with the silhouette of a woman in the foreground. She had turned slightly to look at the sunset, her braided hair resting against her shoulder, her nose bridge high and delicate, lips slightly parted, eyes bright and intense, as if stunned by the breathtaking view.
It was the most recently developed photo, capturing an exceptionally beautiful sunset.
Yan En had said he wanted to see a sunset.
Jiang Muhe clasped the crystal glass with both hands, his palms rubbing against its cool surface, his thumbs tracing the engraved patterns.
A dull ache throbbed in his heart.
He stood up and walked to the side table, placing the sunset photo into a drawer.
With a sigh, he murmured, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have deliberately lured her here.”
That encounter was a perfect alignment of time, place, and circumstance.
If he hadn’t seen Liang Youyun eating glutinous rice alone under the sunset, finding the scene lively and charming, he wouldn’t have picked up his camera, adjusted the angle, shifted his position… and then, accidentally, fallen into a deep pit.
It was utter chaos at the time—so chaotic it made his scalp tingle and his whole body itch, an outright insult to his skills. He never imagined he would become the “prey.”
Yet, amid the chaos, he held onto a sliver of hope.
Thank heavens, she came.