Chapter 38

Xu Heng had always considered himself an independent person. He really was. He rarely cried, not even in difficult times. But for some reason, ever since meeting Chen Ang, he found himself shedding tears more often than ever before. More than the sum of all the past years combined. He thought he had drawn a clean line, cut Chen Ang out of his life with ruthless precision, convinced himself that everything would go back to how it was before.

During the New Year, Xu Heng was invited to spend it at Zhang Ting’s home. Both Zhang Ting and her husband were genuinely kind people. They insisted over and over that he should stay a few extra days. Their young daughter, her hair tied into complex braids that Xu Heng had helped style, clung to his leg and pleaded with big eyes for him to stay just a little longer. But Xu Heng still declined politely.

As she walked him to the door, Zhang Ting tried to slip him a bank card. Xu Heng refused, stubborn to the end.

Zhang Ting said, “It’s not much. Just keep it in case of emergency. You don’t even have to use it. Just give it back when you return.”

Only then did Xu Heng accept it. He stared down at the tips of his shoes and said sincerely, “Thank you.”

Zhang Ting treated him like a real younger brother. She pressed the elevator button and said, “I’ve already picked a spot. It’s a busy area, fifteenth floor. Perfect for a studio. Study hard. When you come back, you can help me.”

When the elevator arrived, Xu Heng gave her a hug and went home.

It had been snowing off and on lately. When he stepped outside, the snowfall had just stopped. A thin layer of snow covered the ground, crunching beneath his shoes. The streets were empty. Everyone was celebrating indoors. Only a few kids in new clothes were running about, throwing those tiny firecrackers that popped loudly when they hit the ground. Every so often, a parked car’s alarm would be startled into life, and the kids would laugh and run off.

Xu Heng wrapped his red scarf tighter and slowly made his way home. He stood for a while at the base of his building, zoning out. The hum of a car engine snapped him back. Someone was leaving in the middle of the night. He looked up and only caught a glimpse of a tail light.

Back in his apartment, Xu Heng moved like a ghost. He had been slowly packing, preparing to end the lease. The place was a mess. A wide-open suitcase sat in the middle of the living room. He didn’t bother turning on the light. He closed the door behind him and navigated the darkness by touch. Halfway in, he stepped on something and nearly tripped. He caught himself on the TV cabinet, and something clattered loudly.

His heart leapt into his throat. He reached out quickly and managed to steady the glass hydrangea before it could hit the floor. He turned on the lights.

Thankfully, the delicate flower was intact. Under the warm light, every petal shimmered like it held fallen stars.

He stared at it for a long time, then sniffled softly. He found a perfectly sized box and an old faded sweater, cut the sweater up to use as padding, and gently packed the hydrangea inside, fitting it snug so it wouldn’t break. He sealed the box and placed it in the suitcase.

He checked his phone. The weather in Tokyo was about the same. Snowing, too.

Chen Ang’s new year was miserable. During the family dinner on New Year’s Eve, He Wan took it upon herself to invite Lu Yiran. It was an act of subtle retaliation, a way of expressing her displeasure that Chen Ang hadn’t celebrated his birthday at home or even picked up the phone.

The atmosphere at the dinner table was the worst it had ever been. Zhou Cheng’an and Chen Jing didn’t speak a word to each other, not even making eye contact. At one point, Zhou Cheng’an dropped a chopstick and it landed near Chen Jing’s feet. He said, “Can you move your foot?” but she didn’t even blink, let alone move.

Chen Ang was so exhausted he couldn’t even muster a polite smile. Lu Yiran, sensing the tension, wisely chose not to speak. Chen Zhengde, ever the traditionalist, remained silent, upholding his rigid rules of “no talking while eating.” The only one who spoke was He Wan, rambling on about the cold weather and how many of the garden flowers had wilted. She carried the conversation like nothing was wrong, spinning harmless topics to maintain a facade of peace that was more aggravating than calming.

That so-called peace lasted only about an hour after dinner.

Zhou Cheng’an, having suffered several humiliating glares and snubs from Chen Jing, turned to Chen Ang, the usually polite and accommodating brother-in-law, hoping to reclaim some sense of authority. He ordered Chen Ang to pass him the TV remote like he was a servant. Chen Ang ignored him completely, as if he were talking into empty air.

Losing face, Zhou Cheng’an shifted gears. His words grew laced with barbed insinuations, mocking Chen Ang’s “little secret,” hinting just enough to be heard but not enough to confront directly. Lu Yiran shifted uncomfortably on the couch and tried to change the subject. Just as Chen Jing opened her mouth to intervene, Chen Ang stood up.

Without warning, he grabbed Zhou Cheng’an by the collar and slammed a punch into him, sending him crashing to the floor. Nearby, the vase of peach blossoms shattered, shards scattering with a crash.

Everyone froze. Before anyone could react, Chen Ang hauled Zhou Cheng’an up again and delivered another solid punch.

He Wan screamed, her voice sharp and panicked. “Stop it! Chen Ang, stop!”

Chen Jing pretended to break up the fight but took the chance to stomp hard on Zhou Cheng’an’s hand. Even though she was only wearing fluffy slippers, it was enough to make him howl in pain.

Under the furious roar of Chen Zhengde, Chen Ang turned and walked out of the house. He stepped on the fallen peach blossoms, didn’t bother to grab his coat from the rack, and slammed the door shut behind him. The cold wind slapped him in the face, sharp and sudden, and the veins on his temple throbbed with leftover rage.

He sat in the car for a long time before the warmth from the heater finally reached his bones. With both hands gripping the wheel, he drove into the quiet streets where only a few cars passed.

Without Xu Heng, life still continued in its original form. The days remained orderly, polished, and elegant, like a table full of dishes prepared to perfection. They looked hot and vibrant, but to Chen Ang, they were tasteless, like food with no salt.

He parked a little way down from Xu Heng’s building and leaned against the window, resting his cheek on his fist as he stared out. The street was empty for a long time until, eventually, Xu Heng appeared.

He walked slowly across the snow-dusted sidewalk, stopping occasionally as if he forgot where he was going. His pace was unhurried, unfocused, like a child who had lost his way.

Chen Ang didn’t get out. He only watched from a distance, silently. Then he started the engine and drove away.

From the rearview mirror, he thought Xu Heng might have looked in his direction.

When he had nothing else to do, Chen Ang would often find himself staring at the calendar Xu Heng had given him. Each day that passed, he marked it with a small, careful check in the little square. The calendar had become his quiet ritual.

He never imagined something so simple could carry so much weight. Each checkmark felt like both a comfort and a countdown. Part of him wanted time to slow down, to savor what he still had. Another part wanted it to speed up, just to reach the day he could finally open the notes Xu Heng had left for him.