Lan Yan replied to Liang Jingchuan’s WeChat message two hours later, saying she had fallen asleep because she was too tired.
He didn’t reply with anything else, just told her to rest well.
She knew avoidance was the worst approach, but before making a decision, she couldn’t think of a better way to resolve it than avoidance.
In the evening, Lan Yan went to the hotpot restaurant first to secure a table.
Fifteen minutes past the appointed time, Lu Ying rushed over. She had come straight from the hotel, still wearing her gray-blue uniform suit under her down jacket. The first thing she did upon sitting down was to remove the hotel logo badge from her chest, then she vented wildly about bizarre customers and idiotic bosses.
Their hotpot gathering stemmed from the saying that the first time is full of enthusiasm, the second wanes, and the third exhausts completely. After three plates of meat dishes went down, they were already half full. The rest of the vegetables went into the pot anyway, mainly because they’d already ordered everything.
Lu Ying selected the best gossip she’d accumulated over this time and spilled it all to Lan Yan in one go, as if afraid of skimping on treating her close friend: “You’re finally back. You have no idea how much I’ve been holding it in these past three months.”
Lan Yan smiled and said, “You didn’t even call me for a voice chat.”
“Voice chats aren’t as fun as chatting in person.” Once Lu Ying had vented her fill, she turned to her friend’s love life. “What about you? Got nothing to share with me? In those three months over there, did you run into any sugar tycoon, shipping magnate, rubber baron, or the like, who wanted to marry you off as a Datuk’s wife?”
“…Isn’t one Liang Jingchuan enough trouble for me?”
Lu Ying perked up her ears. “Now that’s interesting. Spill the details.”
Lan Yan picked up her corn juice, took a sip, and then said carefully, “I just found out that Liang Jingchuan signed a non-compete agreement with the company.”
“He’s the CTO, right? Executives definitely have to sign those.”
“If Chen Boyu finds out, he might very well enforce the non-compete.”
“…Hold on, finds out what? Are you two together?!”
“No… not yet. Don’t get so excited.”
Lu Ying made a fist like a microphone and held it in front of Lan Yan. “Please explain in detail what ‘not yet’ means.”
Lan Yan sighed. “…I think I might like him a little.”
Lu Ying’s eyes widened. “…I’m not the first person in the world to know this besides you yourself, am I?”
“…You are.”
Lu Ying immediately stood up and switched to sit beside Lan Yan, still wearing an expression of disbelief. “This Liang Jingchuan’s got some skills. He actually conquered a challenge this difficult.”
“…I’m dying of worry right now.”
“What’s worrying you? Tell me.”
“Liang Jingchuan wants to leave the company. He and Chen Boyu are both classmates and friends, so under normal circumstances, they should be able to negotiate a solution where neither side suffers. But if Chen Boyu finds out about me and him…”
“How many years is the non-compete restriction?”
“Two years. For those two years, he can’t do any work highly related to his expertise. It’d mean his career completely stalls. Even if I really dated him, I’m not sure it would last two years…”
“Chen Boyu might not enforce the non-compete, right?”
“Could you accept your ex-boyfriend getting together with your good friend?”
Lu Ying’s expression looked like she’d just swallowed a mouthful of bitter melon.
“I don’t know. I can only say the possibility is very high.” Lan Yan’s expression grew even more downcast. “…Liang Jingchuan and I aren’t from wealthy families. Two years at the peak of our careers, just halting like that…” She had witnessed his hard studying—whether waiting for the bus at six in the morning while memorizing vocabulary, pulling all-nighters by extreme methods until two a.m., or barely sleeping through the night after a family member’s death just to get up early for an exam, all to maintain the top grades in his major… Every bit of his success had been hard-earned by him, with no room for waste.
“I think Liang Jingchuan understands the risks better than you do. If he’s still willing to do it…”
“That makes it even harder for me to accept. That kind of sacrifice is too heavy. If we break up later and he regrets it, how could I ever make it up to him?” Lan Yan unconsciously twisted the napkin between her fingers into a strand. “And on top of that, he and I have this brother-sister relationship. What would our parents think if they found out… If they accepted it, but we didn’t end up together, would it create rifts between the two families… A whole pile of troubles.”
Lu Ying studied Lan Yan for a good while before saying, “Have you noticed that you’ve assumed twice now the scenario where you and Liang Jingchuan get together but it doesn’t last?”
Lan Yan froze.
“I feel like what you’re really afraid of is that it won’t last.”
“I…”
“When Chen Boyu chased you back then, did you have all these worries before agreeing?”
“…No.”
“Then what you’re saying isn’t right. It’s not ‘a little’ like.”
After hotpot, Lan Yan went to Lu Ying’s place to stay the night.
Two months earlier, Lu Ying had picked up a cat in her neighborhood. Lan Yan had only seen the photos Lu Ying shared; she hadn’t met the real cat yet.
An endlessly energetic tabby rubbed against them twice when they entered, then darted into the bedroom and vanished.
Lu Ying added some cat food to the bowl. “Having a pet is pretty nice. Otherwise, coming home from work to an empty place feels really lonely.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Lu Ying gave an understanding “mm.”
Cats and dogs only lived about ten years or so. Not everyone had the courage to add separations to their lives that didn’t have to happen.
Especially someone like Lan Yan, who had experienced her mother’s early death.
Before bed, Lan Yan received a message from Liang Jingchuan asking what she was doing.
She replied honestly, saying she was staying over at Lu Ying’s.
He replied with a single “Okay” and didn’t disturb her further.
/
Lan Yan returned to work on time.
Organized by Chu Lansun, she gave a simple report and sharing session with Zhou Wenshu, where she focused on introducing the restoration process of Ju Lian’s painting.
With the New Year just days away, Chu Lansun told Lan Yan not to pick up any more work from Sister Rong, lest she start something she couldn’t finish before the holiday. Instead, she should organize her experiences from this overseas assignment; there might be media interviews later.
So for the next few days, unusually, Lan Yan didn’t spend all her time in the mounting room. Instead, she stayed mostly in the third-floor office.
Earlier, when restoring Tang Wangxiang’s family letters, Lan Yan had brought her grandmother’s correspondence to Mend Orchid Studio to give it some simple treatment for long-term preservation.
When busy, she only had fragmented time for personal matters. Nearly half a year later, she’d only completed a third of the work.
Now with some free time at last, Lan Yan picked it back up.
The processed letters were stored separately in a camphor wood box; the unprocessed ones remained in a cardboard box. The third floor housed not just the office but also the archives, with temperature and humidity ideal for preserving paper documents.
Lan Yan took three letters out of the box in order and went downstairs to the pre-treatment room for dusting and mold prevention.
Though her grandmother had passed away, Lan Yan respected her privacy and tried her best not to read the contents while working on them.
But among the three letters she took out today, one was special.
The envelope was blank, without a single word.
When she opened it, the salutation at the top read “Mom.”
It was strange—this wasn’t Lan Junwen’s handwriting. The writing on this letter paper was very elegant and graceful, whereas Lan Junwen’s strokes were a bit more sloppy.
Lan Yan immediately checked the signature at the end.
【Xiangwei】
This was a letter from her mother, Qiu Xiangwei, to her grandmother.
Lan Yan froze for a moment, then took the letter and sat down in a chair by the window.
【Mom:
I know very well that this illness of mine can’t be cured—please don’t frown when you read this. We always avoid talking about death, turning it into some gloomy taboo. But compared to chemo turning a person into neither human nor ghost, I’d rather embrace death with a more open mindset.
I didn’t dare tell Junwen this, nor could I tell Yanyan. I can only tell you.
Lately, I’ve been gradually handling my affairs after death… Bank cards, insurance policies, those external things are easy to deal with. But Yanyan alone…
Just thinking about her growing up without a mom makes me cry uncontrollably, and even that doesn’t ease the pain.
Yanyan is a child with too pure a soul. I’m so worried my death will affect her view of the world for a long time.
I’m never afraid she’ll forget me. On the contrary, I’m afraid she can never forget me.
From falling in love with her father to now, over a dozen years of supporting each other, every single day counts, and not once has he failed the promises he made me back then.
There are millions of good people in the world. After I pass, perhaps in the future, Junwen will meet someone truly wonderful. At that time, I hope both father and daughter can embrace new lives without any reservations. If not, please pass this letter on to them.
Junwen, Yanyan.
I love you. I only wish for your happiness.
Don’t treat my death as a shadow, but as a tree where you can rest.
When you miss me, lean on my shade. I hear you speak, and the wind will speak for me too.
Xiangwei
Early morning, July 6】
Lan Yan turned her head aside so her tears wouldn’t fall and stain the letter paper.
Her grandmother had passed away in the year Lan Yan started middle school. At that time, Lan Junwen had suffered the consecutive blows of losing his wife and mother, becoming so despondent he seemed to age ten years overnight.
That was why, later, when she learned Lan Junwen had a girlfriend, Lan Yan felt sad but didn’t object— she was certain that if she strongly opposed it, he would follow her lead. But afterward, he would inevitably return to that stagnant, lifeless existence.
Lan Yan took a deep breath and read the letter from beginning to end, word by word. It was all consolation and advice, yet why did endless guilt rise like an ocean, drowning her.
Lan Junwen had found another wonderful person, and she herself had fallen for that wonderful person’s son. Everyone could find happiness, but what about Qiu Xiangwei?
She hadn’t become a tree. She was just a handful of white ashes in a grave, with no next life.
Lan Yan kept the letter private. Its timely appearance felt like it was urging her to decide quickly— no matter how good others were, none could compare to her mom. She clearly minded Lan Junwen’s “betrayal,” so was she about to become one herself?
She had no mood to handle the remaining letters today and took them back to the third floor.
She sat in the chair, lost in a daze for a long time, then asked Chu Lansun for leave, saying she needed to go out.
South City in winter had days of overcast skies, the leaden gray even heavier than her mood.
Lan Yan took a taxi toward the cemetery. Leaning her head against the car window and looking out, the brilliant sunlight from before seemed like an illusion.
Her phone in her pocket vibrated once.
After a long while, Lan Yan mustered the energy to take it out.
【ljc: Can we meet?】
Her finger hovered over the screen for a moment before she replied.
【blueblue: Convenient tonight? Come to Mend Orchid Studio.】
【ljc: Okay. What time?】
【blueblue: Seven.】
/
After paying respects at Qiu Xiangwei’s grave, Lan Yan returned to Mend Orchid Studio ten minutes early. She didn’t enter the courtyard but went to the road outside lined with dense sycamores and sent Liang Jingchuan her location.
Soon, she saw him walking over from the other end of the road. His car must have been parked that way.
He wore a long black overcoat, appearing under the cobalt-yellow lights like a solitary shadow in the biting cold.
Lan Yan kept both hands in her coat pockets, her gaze fixed on him until he stopped in front of her.
The cold wind was fierce; their exhaled breath instantly turned to white mist.
An extremely untimely thought crossed her mind: this looked just like the white speech bubbles in comics where characters spoke.
If only it were a comic, someone else could write the dialogue for her, so she wouldn’t have to speak it herself.
Liang Jingchuan lowered his eyes to look at her, a faint, hard-to-decipher emotion in them.
She had been avoiding him, and of course he knew. She knew he knew.
“Liang Jingchuan.” Lan Yan spoke calmly.
He slightly raised his eyelids in acknowledgment.
“Last time you said that if I knew what words to say to make you give up completely, are you ready to hear them now?”
A flash of astonishment passed through his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I think we shouldn’t waste any more time…”
Liang Jingchuan interrupted her: “Do you think this is a waste of time?”
“…From the result’s perspective, I’m afraid yes. That day you said you liked me, and now I’m giving you my reply. Sorry, I can’t accept you.”
“…Do you think these words can make me give up?”
Lan Yan was speechless for a moment. Unwilling, yet still unable to lie: “…I don’t like you.”
It was as if all the night colors instantly tumbled into his eyes. Those pupils, which turned a beautiful amber color under strong light, were particularly dim and profound at that moment.
“…Not even the slightest feeling?” Liang Jingchuan’s voice grew hoarse.
“There is a little.”
Liang Jingchuan’s eyelashes trembled faintly. He raised his eyes, and faint glimmers flickered within them.
Lan Yan continued: “But it’s not enough to offset the pressure I’d have to bear. Whether it’s the pressure on you to split from Chen Boyu for my sake, or the pressure of challenging our sibling bond… I’m sorry, I’m rather selfish. I’m very satisfied with my current peaceful life and don’t want to turn it upside down for some uncertain flutter of the heart.”
She hadn’t said “not at all.”
Yet this “a little” felt even more suffocating than “not at all.”
Liang Jingchuan fell silent.
Lan Yan exhaled silently and at length. Her fingers clenched tightly in her pocket, the slight pain keeping her emotions in absolute calm: “Let’s leave it here. If we go on, I’ll feel troubled… If you want, I can call you brother…”
“No.” Liang Jingchuan’s voice was cold and hard. “Only two choices, Lan Yan. Lovers, or strangers.”
“…Strangers.”
Liang Jingchuan’s thin lips pressed into a tight line, his expression cold as frost and snow. After a moment, he spoke in an even more aloof tone: “Then let’s try it. Best if you don’t surrender.”
Lan Yan parted her lips but made no sound. She was cruel enough already—why engage in a war of words?
Liang Jingchuan stepped back, turned without hesitation, and strode toward the other end of the road.
Lan Yan lowered her head and slowly walked back to Mend Orchid Studio.
Beneath the tree shadows, the tears she had held back finally fell.