The car interior was utterly silent, the drive uninterrupted by a single word.
Liang Yifeng got out to retrieve the suitcase, only to be called back by Shen Fang.
He rested one hand in his pocket and turned slightly to look at him.
The roadside streetlamps, shaped like white magnolias, spilled fragmented light across the ground. Liang Yifeng stood in the glow, his features sharp and cold, as if veiled by moonlight. One hand rested in his pocket, the other on the handle of the suitcase, a faint trace of impatience crossing his face.
Shen Fang leaned out of the car window. “Bro, I forgot to remind you—you’ve got a fitting for the groomsmen suit the day after tomorrow. Don’t forget.”
“Mm.” Liang Yifeng lightly nodded and turned into the building corridor.
The apartment he lived in had one unit per floor, highly private and simple.
The elevator doors opened to the foyer.
He casually set the suitcase down, removed his coat, and headed to the bathroom.
After showering, he wrapped a towel around his waist, his upper body bare, water droplets still sliding down his defined oblique muscles, each line etched clearly.
He dried his hair while walking back to the foyer, laid the suitcase flat, and entered the combination—
It didn’t open.
Liang Yifeng crouched slightly, his face unreadable.
He set the towel aside and traced the lock with his fingertips. The engraving was gone. The two characters—completely vanished.
He had taken the wrong suitcase.
He looked at the luggage tag.
The usually calm, impassive expression on his face cracked for a moment; his heartbeat skipped. He frowned, pressing his fingers against the tag, his dark eyes fixed on the Pinyin.
Zhong Nian.
His Adam’s apple bobbed; his lowered lashes trembled slightly. His breath caught for a split second, and even his hand holding the tag quivered.
After a long while, he sat on the shoe bench, moving slowly as he took out his phone.
There was only one photo in his album.
A group photo of the Zhong family mother and daughter with the Liang family. The young faces were equally cool and composed.
The girl in the red coat, her hair dancing in the wind that day, brushed past his ears. He stood beside her, expressionless, staring at the camera.
But the camera didn’t capture—
—his stiff hands and feet, his panicked heartbeat, the images that only appeared at night, now surfacing in daylight.
Leaning his head back, Liang Yifeng sat in silence. The motion sensor light in the foyer dimmed.
Only a single corridor lamp cast a soft yellow glow throughout the apartment. He lowered his eyes, thoughts unreadable, his sharp profile etched in the faint light.
If he hadn’t encountered Sui Yu, he could have told himself that her name might be Zhong Nian, Zhongnian, or even Zhong Nian—but Sui Yu appeared, and all such guesses were invalidated.
Perhaps a reunion had only a one-in-ten-thousand chance. But Liang Yifeng thought: he could pass by 9,999 people just to meet her.
·
Losing her luggage left Zhong Nian with a strangely subdued mood.
She barely ate dinner. Abroad, she had eaten Western food and hamburgers, but now, back home, she couldn’t summon interest in Chinese cuisine either.
It was like travelers visiting Nan City for the famous sites, willing to wait hours in line. She, having only been there once for a primary school outing, had never returned—always thinking someday she would go.
But when that day would come, she didn’t know.
After dinner, Sui Yu drove her to her new place.
Before returning, she had asked her friend Su Hua to help find a residence. The apartment was downtown, near a large supermarket and shopping mall, convenient for commuting. The community was nice, secure, and after seeing photos, Zhong Nian immediately booked it.
After parking, Sui Yu asked if she needed help.
The night breeze was cool. Zhong Nian tucked the stray hairs behind her ear, pressed her lips lightly, and gave a faint smile. “Wouldn’t this disturb your date?”
His phone had been constantly buzzing all the way, WeChat messages, texts, calls—over twenty notifications.
Zhong Nian casually glanced at the names: “An’an,” “Coco,” “Xiaoyu”…
She discreetly looked away, recalling her mother’s careful words before she returned: “Nian Nian, Sui Yu seems like a good boy. Do you…?”
Yes, Sui Yu as a friend would be fine.
As a lover? She didn’t have the tolerance to let someone have hundreds of girls in his contacts, or spend his days drifting among them.
Sui Yu grinned at her remark.
His roguish profile looked striking in the light, his eyes glittering like stars.
He winked. “Thanks for understanding!”
Zhong Nian waved her hand. “Let’s go.”
Sui Yu honked lightly. “Off I go, then.”
“Mm.” She watched him drive off.
His smirking face gradually disappeared into the night, and only then did Zhong Nian turn into the building.
The apartment had already been prepared; in the age of the internet, a few taps on the phone solved everything.
The cleaning lady had left the space spotless. A single flower sat in the living room, filling the air with fragrance.
After washing up, Zhong Nian lay on the bed.
The crescent moon cast a cold, gentle light through the slightly open curtains, forming a beam across the floor.
The light slowly moved from her face to her ankles.
After long travels, she finally closed her eyes.
Her features were calm in the shadows; silence reigned in the apartment.
In a corner, a black lacquered suitcase lay quietly, completely still.
Some stray wind lifted the luggage tag.
Floating between light and dark, the Pinyin slowly became clear.
It read:
— Yifeng Liang.
·
The next morning, Zhong Nian changed into the clothes she had washed and dried yesterday, hastily tidied herself, and headed out.
Her suitcase hadn’t been returned. She needed to buy several outfits: daily wear, work attire, and a decent set for her friend’s wedding in a few days.
Skincare, cosmetics, electronics, and health products—she had a full day of errands. In the afternoon, she would go home, where her mother had been waiting for her.
Zhong Nian had left China at the end of her second semester in high school.
Her uncle, Shen Liangyi, had been working in the UK. When her father passed away, and her mother struggled to support the family alone, she was entrusted to the care of her father’s friend, Liang Weimian. Once Shen Liangyi settled in the UK, he brought Zhong Nian over.
Her sister, Zhong Wei, had originally considered going too but refused, saying, “I don’t speak English. Life would be too unfamiliar there.”
Shen Liangyi tried to persuade her; Zhong Nian also tried to convince her. But she refused, only wanting Zhong Nian to study and live well abroad.
Over the years, Zhong Nian had never returned home; only Zhong Wei had visited her in England.
She didn’t know how her home looked now. Was her room the same? Was the painting still behind the living room sofa—the one she and her father had painted together?
When Zhong Nian arrived with her bags, Zhong Wei happened to be in the courtyard.
She closed the taxi door as dust swirled, and mother and daughter gazed at each other through the fence. The willow trees swayed in the courtyard; blue sky and white clouds framed the scene, the air fragrant with unknown flowers.
After a long pause, Zhong Nian took a step forward and sighed softly. “Mom, I’m back.”
Zhong Wei’s eyes glistened; she wiped the corner of her eyes. “It’s good you’re back. It’s good you’re back.”
Zhong Nian walked through the house. Nothing had changed. The old belongings remained where they were, even the painting was as vivid as yesterday.
Standing in front of the sofa, she looked up at the painting. Her mother approached. “You’re not leaving this time, right?”
“No, I’m staying.” She took the teacup and sipped lightly. “Mom, I’ll stay with you.”
Zhong Wei chuckled. “This old lady doesn’t need anyone. Being alone is fine.”
Years ago, Zhong Nian had timidly said over the phone: “Mom, if you feel lonely, you could… find an uncle or someone.”
Her father had passed too suddenly; everyone was forced to accept the vast emptiness.
Zhong Wei had been alone in China. Whenever Zhong Nian imagined her mother facing that huge house alone, tears welled up. She had truly hoped someone could be there for her mother.
Back then, Zhong Wei had also said something that made Zhong Nian tear up:
—“When you’re alone, at least you can think of Lao Zhong freely, visit him when you miss him. With someone around, it’s different—you have to restrain your feelings. You can’t mention him in front of others, can’t proudly say, ‘Zhong Huai, he was my husband.’”
Zhong Nian had sobbed on the phone.
Her parents—truly the best in the world.
After a quiet moment, her mother said, “I’ve invited your Uncle Liang and his family over for dinner tonight, Nian Nian. They’ve been very good to me these years. Little Liang also cares a lot, often comes to see me.”
The Uncle Liang her mother referred to was Liang Weimian, a friend of Zhong Huai. When Zhong Nian was at the first high school, and her family had been in turmoil, her mother was constantly away working. Liang Weimian offered to let Zhong Nian live with them, so she could accompany Liang Yifeng.
“Accompany” was a stretch—they were too similar in personality: cold and unapproachable.
In Zhong Nian’s memory, they had barely spoken a word.
From moving in to leaving the Liang household, they had remained distant.
She remembered the defiant young boy, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, long, narrow eyes cold and unreadable. She hadn’t dared approach him back then. She wondered whether he had changed.
Zhong Nian asked, “How is Liang Yifeng now?”
The moment she spoke, something felt strange.
Her tone—why did it sound like she was asking after a long-lost boyfriend?