Chapter 4 – Do You Know Bian Ji?

Bian Ji had many friends in the aviation circle, his affable and humorous demeanor towards everyone, coupled with his frequent international flights that even extended his social reach to the Arctic Circle, meant he had no shortage of ex-partners. Yet, despite the rumors that painted him as a playboy, his reputation within the industry remained stellar. Thoughtful, passionate, and emotionally engaging, these were the labels that stuck to him.

Bian Ji’s taste could be described as singularly focused; most of his partners had personalities opposite to his, leaning towards the cool and detached side, such as British models or captains he had flown with numerous times. Unfortunately, none of those relationships had ended well.

His romantic history ranged from a few months to two years at most. Bian Ji once thought it was due to his own issues — constantly traveling abroad and having many areas of his life inaccessible to others, indeed, he wasn’t suited for a relationship.

Later on, he decided to adopt a dog, but unfortunately, the good times didn’t last long, and even the dog left him a year ago. From then on, Bian Ji refrained from keeping pets and continued living alone, and the only living things around him were a bunch of potted plants that didn’t require watering to survive.

So, what impulse drove him to choose such a cliché way to strike up a conversation with Yan Ankuo, Bian Ji himself didn’t know. After serious contemplation, he attributed this anomaly to the post-rescue adrenaline rush.

In the world of adults, there weren’t many things worth dwelling on. Being rejected was just an insignificant episode compared to the thrilling night they had experienced. There was still a lot of follow-up work to attend to — this was how Bian Ji consoled himself.

After a brief health check-up, the airline compensated each passenger and arranged accommodation and meals for them. By the time a new flight was coordinated, it was already evening. Then, there was another half-hour delay due to air traffic control. When they finally landed in Kunming, it was nearly one o’clock in the morning.

Bian Ji dragged his suitcase to the company hotel and collapsed onto the bed. His brain was overloaded and throbbed with pain. Lying there for ten minutes, he eventually regained some composure and struggled to get up and change out of his uniform. He had to catch a flight back to Shanghai the next morning operated by a colleague, so he couldn’t dawdle any longer if he wanted to get any sleep tonight.

His phone kept buzzing, but he ignored it, and went to take a hot shower. When he came out, he found dozens of unread messages, all from colleagues he had flown with or acquaintances made during his travels.

After replying to all of them, Bian Ji suddenly paused, opened his browser, and typed in a line of text based on a fleeting memory he couldn’t quite place.

Hengtian Law Firm, Shanghai.

Not knowing how to write the characters, he initially mistyped “Heng,” but fortunately, the law firm was well-known enough that the search engine automatically corrected the name and displayed a long list of results.

Located near the Bund Financial Center, the firm specialized in economic finance cases and marital disputes, established in 2001, with six senior partners, Yan Ankuo being one of them…

Bian Ji’s mind was numb, mechanically scrolling through the information before suddenly realizing what he was doing.

Perhaps he was a bit muddled from the smoke inhalation, which was why he kept replaying memories of the accident scene in his head.

Bian Ji mockingly tapped his head, quickly tossed his phone aside to charge, and prepared to sleep.

The wind blew the curtains slightly, and Bian Ji knew by the sound that it had started raining.

He was too tired to close the window, praying that tomorrow’s visibility would be high enough to prevent too much delay when he returned to Shanghai as he drifted off to sleep.

This rain had begun in the afternoon.

Yan Ankuo hadn’t brought an umbrella and had to dash to the high-speed railway station. He had lingered at the airport for too long, leaving him only forty minutes to make the journey. Rushing, he barely managed to board the train before the gates closed.

This day had been truly tumultuous, and Yan Ankuo’s heart rate took a while to stabilize. He opened his phone’s notes app and saw the will he had written for his family while on the plane: [1. All assets will be distributed according to the will to Ms. Yan Fanxuan and Ms. Cheng Xi.

Bank card password is my birthday.

Love you.]

He hadn’t gotten to write point four because the plane had been shaking too violently at the time.

Yan Ankuo felt embarrassed about this note and deleted it, turning to WeChat instead to inform his family of his safety.

There were some unread messages on his phone, but not many sources. Only a limited number of people knew Yan Ankuo’s flight number, the head of his law firm being one of them. They had just seen the news and were checking on his condition. There was also a client he was supposed to meet that evening, who was unaware of the situation and asked him when he would arrive in Kunming as usual. The remaining ten missed calls were unsurprisingly from Yan Fanxuan.

Yan Fanxuan was Yan Ankuo’s younger sister, thirteen years his junior, and had just graduated from university. She was currently undergoing training to become a flight attendant for an airline. Their father had passed away in a car accident, leaving behind Cheng Xi, who suffered from chronic illnesses, a newly high school graduate Yan Ankuo, and the then five-year-old Yan Fanxuan. Out of necessity, Yan Ankuo chose to stay in Shanghai for his studies, working part-time while learning how to raise a child.

Those early years of study were indeed tough. The three of them huddled in a seemingly dilapidated old house in Minhang. Yan Ankuo tutored on weekends, worked in bars at night, and provided legal aid during his spare time, enduring a dull and arduous college life. To support the family, he didn’t pursue further education, instead, he started interning at Hengtian early on, living on a meager salary, eating one meal split into two, yet quietly buying trendy learning machines for his sister.

Raised in a loving environment, Yan Fanxuan grew up naive and adorable, lacking tact in her speech. Upon hearing her brother’s voice, she sighed in relief. “Still alive?”

“…” Yan Ankuo thought, why was she talking nonsense? “Dead.”

“What are you saying, how unlucky,” Yan Fanxuan said discontentedly.

Yan Ankuo laughed, amused by her words, “Listen to the question you asked yourself.”

“Are you hurt? Have you had a check-up? Where are you?” Yan Fanxuan fired questions rapidly, “Why don’t you come home first? We’re scared to death.”

“I’m not injured,” Yan Ankuo replied, “I’ll return after the case is settled.”

Yan Fanxuan grumbled about how he valued money over his life and sent him a screenshot. “Is this your new flight number?”

Yan Ankuo clicked on it and found it was a group chat screenshot detailing the subsequent arrangements for Flight AD801. He picked up the phone again. “Where did you get this?”

“Where else could it be from, it was shared in the company group.” Yan Fanxuan said, “Such a big incident, the whole company is discussing it.”

Yan Ankuo paused for a moment, his frazzled brain slowly returning to functionality.

He belatedly remembered that his sister had just joined X Airlines and was undergoing flight attendant training — the reason he had signed up for the airline’s membership program and chosen to fly exclusively with them.

Yan Ankuo suddenly recalled, “Right, you work for X Airlines.”

“…Brother?” Yan Fanxuan doubted whether his claim of “not being injured” was true, speaking coldly, “Did you rattle your brain stupid?”

The high-speed train was passing through mountains, the cliffs steep and sheer, the sky vast and distant, with a silver-white streak stretching far into the horizon. At the end of the line, a small aircraft, almost disappearing, moved slowly across the sky.

Looking out the window at the scenery flashing past, Yan Ankuo suddenly thought of someone.

Deep blue uniform, straight shoulders, slim waist, long legs, and slender but strong wrists. Fingers that had gripped his arm, leaving five distinct finger marks.

Yan Ankuo rolled up his sleeve dishonestly, staring at the red marks on his bicep, suddenly reaching out to repeatedly caress the bruise, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Is there someone in your company,” Yan Ankuo fiddled with the documents on the desk, “named Bian Ji?”

“Who?” The noise of the high-speed train was too loud, making it hard for Yan Fanxuan to hear, so she had to ask again.

When the noise subsided, Yan Ankuo repeated, “Bian Ji.”

“Oh, Chief Attendant Bian.” Yan Fanxuan confirmed this time, her tone rising slightly, “I know him, a real handsome guy. Didn’t I show you his picture at home? Don’t you remember?”

Yan Ankuo didn’t see his sister often, occasionally listening to her share gossip about a certain training instructor or colleague.

No wonder he found him familiar on the plane. That was what Yan Ankuo thought, but he said, “I don’t recall.”

Yan Fanxuan was a person of action. Five seconds after hanging up and saying she would “look for it,” she sent him a video.

In the video, Bian Ji was in the distance, apparently just disembarked from the plane, wearing his neatly pressed uniform, striding down several steps. Seeing the girls secretly filming him, he greeted them with a smile.

The video stopped at this infectious signature smile, and Yan Ankuo paused for half a second.

Yan Fanxuan called again, her pitch higher, sounding excited. “Why did you suddenly think of him?”

“Xiao Fan.” Yan Ankuo didn’t answer, instead posing a difficult question to his sister, “Can you get access to your colleagues’ flight schedules?”