Chapter 39

The month hadn’t even ended when Chen Ang was sent on a business trip. It wasn’t something only he could handle, but there was a case in a small northern city he had never even heard of. It was an investigation into tax violations, boring and tedious but necessary. No one else wanted to take it, so the responsibility naturally fell on the least experienced Chen Ang.

“Ah, youth is such a blessing, unlike us old folks, with bad backs and families to worry about. If I went, I’d be so worried, my husband alone with the kids.”

“Yeah, but Xiao Chen, don’t work too hard. If you don’t have time to date, that’d be a real tragedy.”

“Ha, what are you talking about? Xiao Chen is so outstanding, she doesn’t need to worry. Girls line up to get to the provincial bureau.”

“Xiao Chen, you know Director Lu’s daughter, right? I saw you talking with her last time.”

The chatter went on.

If it were usual, Chen Ang would have smiled and let it pass, maybe even add a few playful words. The office would be filled with the teasing yet affectionate laughter of the older colleagues, creating a warm atmosphere. But today, Chen Ang felt that this kind of atmosphere was mechanical and fake. The smile wasn’t really a smile, the concern wasn’t real concern. He felt as if he was detached, observing himself drift between the files and the computer screen.

The northern industrial city was shrouded in a grey, damp sky, and even the cold wind seemed particularly stinging. The thin layer of snow on the roads was already dirty from the many footsteps. People walked hurriedly by. The local tax office had diligently arranged for a reception, but Chen Ang had no interest in pretending anymore. He feigned illness and downed three drinks, heading straight for the small hotel where he was staying. The room had a lingering, acrid smell of smoke.

Chen Ang fell asleep fully clothed, lying in bed with one hand propped up, phone in hand. As he had done many times before, he opened the chat window with Xu Heng, scrolling up to the very top, then slowly scrolling back down, until he reached the bottom. He clicked into Xu Heng’s Moments.

Xu Heng didn’t post on Moments often, and since he had resigned from his makeup studio and stopped streaming a while ago, there was even less to post.

Chen Ang kept pulling to refresh, but no new content came up.

He had drunk on an empty stomach, and the dizziness hit him in waves. His eyelids fluttered, and his hand loosened. The phone slipped from his grip. He instinctively closed his eyes, bracing for the expected pain, but it didn’t come. The phone didn’t hit his face, only bouncing softly off his cheek, landing on the mattress.

He felt a deep, inexplicable sense of loss.

The next day, Chen Ang woke up early. He followed the guide through winding streets to the city outskirts, where factories were scattered. They checked the upstream invoicing companies, looked at the production scale, audited the accounts, and took notes from the legal representatives and financial officers. The process was clear, no surprises. Chen Ang mechanically went step by step, his head spinning.

Day after day, the same routine. By the time all the data had been gathered, it was the evening before his return. The locals insisted on keeping him for dinner. At the table, the wine wasn’t great and the food wasn’t special. No one dared to go overboard, but it was lively nonetheless. They toasted each other, calling each other brothers, chatting about everything from the company incident last month where a dog bit someone and burned the accounting books, to the birth of a healthy baby boy just a few days ago.

Chen Ang couldn’t care less about the conversation, and before he knew it, he had been fed several glasses, the burning sensation traveling down his throat and into his stomach.

He stood up, supporting himself against the chair, and stepped outside into the cold wind. Lighting a cigarette, he shook the ash off, then mindlessly unlocked his phone. The motions had become automatic. When he realized what he was doing, he had once again opened Xu Heng’s Moments, scrolling up and down absentmindedly.

This time, there was new content.

No words, just a picture, of a plane ticket. The key information was blurred, but the destination was clear: Tokyo. The departure time was just around the corner.

“Hey, excuse me, sir, could you move out of the doorway?” someone said.

Chen Ang stepped aside, muttering, “Sorry…”

By the time the dinner came to an end, the floor by the table was littered with empty wine bottles. Chen Ang had forgotten how much he’d drunk, and as he staggered to walk, his arm draped over a thick wool coat, he groped his way back to his room. His shoes clattered against the door as he entered.

He closed the door and sat against it on the carpet, which had several burn marks from cigarette butts. His head was spinning, and he couldn’t even tell what he was thinking.

Knock knock knock..

“Xiao Chen! You’re still up, right? Let’s have another drink! Whoever passes out first..”

The colleague, drunk and shouting, was persuaded by the hotel staff to leave. The noise gradually faded, and everything returned to silence, with the tick-tock of the bedside clock filling the stillness.

Chen Ang suddenly staggered to his feet. He yanked opened his suitcase and threw everything that had been neatly packed onto the floor. Clothes and toiletries scattered everywhere. He rummaged through every pocket of his pants and jacket, but couldn’t find it.

He couldn’t find it.

No matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find that small business card.

That day, He An had jokingly handed him the card, and he had carelessly stuffed it into his pocket, never thinking about it again.

How could he find it?

Chen Ang’s fading rationality snapped back, and he slumped down by the bed, staring at the mess. His stomach churned, and he clamped his hand over his mouth, stumbling through the chaos on the floor and rushing to the bathroom, where he threw up everything he’d eaten and drunk.

The bedside clock let out a long beep, marking the final second of the last day of the month.

Chen Ang leaned on the sink, waiting for the dizziness to pass. After rinsing his mouth and washing his hands, his mouth was left with a bitter taste.

The calendar Xu Heng had given him was tucked into the small compartment of his suitcase. He had even bought a plastic cover to protect it, afraid it would get dirty or wrinkled. He almost obsessively searched through the scattered items to find a pen and carefully marked the last empty box of the month with a small checkmark.

Then he flipped to the back, lifted the small piece of paper that had been covering it, and set it aside, revealing Xu Heng’s handwriting. He had written a long message.

Xu Heng’s handwriting wasn’t particularly neat, but it was written with great care, each stroke like a child’s.

“New Year’s just passed, wishing you happiness, good health, and everything goes your way. If you followed our agreement and didn’t open this until the month was over, then I should be on my way to Tokyo now. I’m a bit scared, but it’s not the first time I’m starting over alone in an unfamiliar place. I’ll be fine, and so should you.

But there’s something I’m not fine about.

Today in Japanese class, the teacher had us read Matsuo Bashō’s haiku, and I slightly modified it. I’ll read it to you.

As the clam splits in two, we part. I walk slowly. Winter moves on with me.”

When Chen Ang returned to the south, he noticed the street was lined with many blooming bauhinia flowers.

Spring was coming back.