Chapter 65: Beginning and End—In the End, You’re Always Alone
How far can a person go in life?
If you took this question out into the street, you’d probably get a slew of bold answers, like “How bold the person is, how productive the land is.” or “The farther you see, the farther you’ll go.” Answers like these, endless variations on the same theme.
But that’s not how it is.
Jiang Xiaoyuan sat dazed in the car, thinking to herself: “It’s not like that at all.”
Back in political science class as a child, the textbook used the example of a kite needing a string to fly freely, to explain the concept that “freedom is relative, not absolute.” At the time, the teacher drummed this into their ears repeatedly, and she hadn’t taken it seriously. Now, she could see its point.
Without a river, there is no shore.
If there is no way back, no matter how far one walks, how can it be measured?
By some forgotten starting point?
Jiang Xiaoyuan knew full well that her grandmother had passed away long before she was born. The elderly woman in the hospital, the one she had only seen last year, wasn’t even someone she knew well. Yet, this old lady felt like a landmark—a fragile root connecting her to her home in this world and tenuously reaching into another.
Her late grandmother was the closest person she had to the past, as if she had been waiting here for a long time, standing in for those distant and estranged relatives she’d never get to meet. It gave her someone to care for, to listen to her weekly ramblings, someone to whom she could return after drifting for a year, ensuring she had a home to come back to and wouldn’t feel so lonely.
It was as if that reclusive scholar who loved to write diaries had merged with Jiang Xiaoyuan. Over time, it seemed as though the days spent together in the village were the real ones, while the indulgent life in another time and space was just a wild dream.
Jiang Xiaoyuan didn’t know if she had cried. She didn’t even notice Qi Lian glancing at her from time to time as he drove. Her unfocused eyes were fixed outside the window.
At that moment, a small screen suddenly appeared on the window—a screen that only she could see.
A group of people was taking a picture. There she was, along with her parents, grandparents, and maternal grandparents. Everyone was healthy. They teased her for being too tall, and the whole family made her squat at the front like a little pet. She looked unhappy, and her father held her head down, forcing her to hug her grandmother’s leg…
As the shutter clicked, Jiang Xiaoyuan blinked rapidly, as if in response.
So, the virus in the lighthouse had been lurking until now, just waiting for a better time to strike.
Qi Lian had driven the entire way in fear, oblivious to the fact that Jiang Xiaoyuan had been watching an emotional family drama unfold in her mind, one reminiscent of the show I Love My Family[mfn]”I Love My Family” is a popular Chinese sitcom that aired from 1993 to 1994. It was China’s first multi-camera sitcom and is considered a classic of Chinese television.[/mfn].
She had always envied Qi Lian’s popularity, never quite knowing how to emulate it.
Everyone had betrayed her—girlfriends stabbing her in the back, boyfriends currying favor with her day in and day out.
“Why do you need so much superiority just to survive?”
Because, deep down, she felt there was nothing lovable about her. She clung to her sense of superiority so that when parting ways, she could leave with grace.
She had always been this way, all these years.
Living beings were uncontrollable—humans, of course, but even cats and dogs could be lured away with a single sausage. In the past, Jiang Xiaoyuan had thought that material things were dependable.
But one day, when the world turned upside down, even the cold and pragmatic material world abandoned her.
Suddenly, Jiang Xiaoyuan realized why her grandmother was so important.
It was because, in this world, only family offered her a fragile sense of security. As an only child, her family, bound by irreplaceable blood ties, might not have adored her, but at least they wouldn’t abandon her or intentionally harm her.
If her grandmother were gone, the world would have nothing left to offer her for security.
By the time Qi Lian’s car finally came to a stop outside the hospital, Jiang Xiaoyuan had just barely regained her composure. She opened the door absentmindedly like a wandering soul, her mind still lost in a whirl of memories, and started to get out of the car.
Just then, a hand reached out from inside the car and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.
Qi Lian’s grip was strong, matching the tattooed wrist it belonged to. His palm was burning hot, but his fingertips were cold, as if something heavy weighed on his heart, blocking his circulation.
He pulled Jiang Xiaoyuan into his arms. The scent of gardenias from her enveloped him, sweet and intoxicating, but for the first time, Qi Lian caught a hint of bitterness.
Jiang Xiaoyuan didn’t cry, didn’t tremble, didn’t resist, didn’t react at all. She just quietly let him hold her, allowing his touch to slowly bring her back to life, a little warmth seeping into her cold body.
For a brief moment, she reached out to clutch his shirt, her face showing a hint of tears, but she quickly held them back. She patted his shoulder and whispered: “Taking advantage of me? That’ll cost you.”
Then she pushed him away and headed toward the hospital.
Qi Lian had no idea what she had seen. Jiang Xiaoyuan didn’t say a word.
She appeared calm as they walked into the hospital, but in a place no one else could see, the hospital’s reflective lobby floors played endless chaotic scenes.
She saw herself aging—her hair turning brittle and yellow, wrinkles appearing on her face, her once-full features slowly withering. But her cheap clothes gradually reverted to her old standard of living. She looked older and successful, her face cold and unsympathetic, the deepening lines around her mouth giving her an air of bitterness and contempt.
In the virus’s silent theater, Jiang Xiaoyuan saw herself passing Jiang Bo on the street, both of them like strangers, neither acknowledging the other. Then she saw herself in a heated argument with Qi Lian, but before long, she grew silent. Sitting coldly to the side, she picked up her cup, pretending to be “serving tea to see off guests” with an air of aloofness, not even bothering to continue the fight.
That expression was so familiar. Whenever she was fed up with Huo Boyu, she treated him the same way, dismissing him as if he were nothing.
…But aside from Huo Boyu, had she treated anyone else this way?
Jiang Xiaoyuan couldn’t remember.
The scene shifted again. She saw herself as a child, waking up and going to bed alone.
She curled up in her small bed with her back to the door, pretending to sleep. Through the partially open door, she could hear the housekeeper talking to someone on the phone.
The familiar scene stirred long-buried memories, brushing off the dust of time, still so clear as if it had happened yesterday.
There was no sound from the image on the floor, but Jiang Xiaoyuan remembered every word. The housekeeper had said, “The master’s family has only one little girl… What? You mean the kid? She’s not very lovable, actually quite annoying. Her parents don’t really care about her. She was probably an accident.”
The image changed again, and Jiang Xiaoyuan saw Feng Ruixue’s pitying smile on her pale face, her lips moving as if she were saying something…
By the time Jiang Xiaoyuan and Qi Lian reached the entrance of the operating room, the lights suddenly went out, and Jiang Xiaoyuan’s body froze, every hair on her skin standing on end.
The door to the operating room opened, and doctors and nurses filed out, with a figure lying motionless on the operating table, covered by a white sheet.
At that moment, the countless scenes swirling around Jiang Xiaoyuan suddenly shattered. A deafening roar filled her ears.
She saw her long-absent parents waving to her from the hospital’s white walls, and beneath them, in familiar handwriting, the words:
“The passage is ready. Are you ready to depart?”
The word “Yes” seemed to be written in blood, glaring red.
It hovered on the tip of her tongue, almost slipping out. With the last shred of her will, Jiang Xiaoyuan bit down hard on her tongue, the taste of blood filling her mouth.
She took a step forward, but her legs gave out, and she staggered and fell. But before she hit the ground, Qi Lian grabbed her, pulling her up.
Qi Lian had finally noticed something was off in her gaze. Grabbing her shoulders tightly, he asked: “What did you see? What did you see?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan clenched her teeth, unable to speak.
Is it true that people can never outrun time? No matter how hard you try?
Qi Lian grabbed her collar, lifting her off the ground: “Look at me!”
A nurse nearby frowned and walked over to scold them: “No shouting in the hospital.”
Qi Lian shot her a glance, and the nurse hesitated, then shrank back. But all he said was, “Sorry,” before helping Jiang Xiaoyuan to a nearby seat.
As soon as the nurse spoke, Jiang Xiaoyuan had snapped out of it. Silently, she let Qi Lian guide her to the bench. Her phone was buzzing in her pocket, but she ignored it. Qi Lian glanced at her, then gently pulled the phone from her coat pocket.
Then he let out a long sigh, leaned back, and stretched out his hand. His fingers hovered in the air for a while before finally resting on Jiang Xiaoyuan’s hair draped over her back.
Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say.
But Jiang Xiaoyuan spoke first: “I know, you don’t need to say it.”
Qi Lian: “You know what I want to say?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “The people around me will always leave. Those older than me are destined to go before I do, and even those younger than me… might leave at any time, whether they grow tired of me or due to some accident. No matter the circumstances, from beginning to end, a person only has themselves. This virus never hits where it truly hurts, so no wonder it got stuck in the cracks of time and space.”
Just as she finished speaking, the screen of Qi Lian’s phone suddenly went dark with a “plop.” When he unlocked it again, all he saw was an empty inbox, as if everything that had just happened was an illusion.
After finishing her words, Jiang Xiaoyuan stood up. No matter what, she was going to see her grandmother in person.
No matter how exceptional or extraordinary a person believes themselves to be, there will always be someone who disagrees. Their life will inevitably be filled with separations, with partings from life and death. There will always be someone who dislikes them, grows tired of them, or sharply denies their worth.
But no matter how sharp reality is, if this is what it is, what can you do but accept it?
Qi Lian raised his hand and grasped her wrist: “Am I not enough?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan remained silent.
Qi Lian: “You no longer waver because of the virus, so why do I refuse to disappear from your life? You know in your heart, don’t you, Princess? Yet you’ll never show it, is it because I haven’t knelt at your feet and offered up my loyalty for you to see?”
Suddenly, Jiang Xiaoyuan burst into uncontrollable sobs.
Qi Lian sighed again, took her hand, and gazed at her slender but not particularly bony hand. He gently and reverently pressed his lips to the back of her hand, lingering for only a moment before standing up and letting her lean on his shoulder.
Jiang Xiaoyuan cried her heart out, and after an unknown amount of time, she mumbled, “I need to see my grandmother.”
Qi Lian fished a tissue from her pocket and silently handed it to her, shielding her as she wiped her face. “Alright, let’s go.”
They had just taken two steps when a familiar voice called her from behind: “Xiaoyuan.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan quickly turned around, her tear-stained face still wet.
She saw Uncle Sun standing not far behind, his cheeks red.
Uncle Sun: “Hey! I told your aunt I saw someone who looked like you, but she insisted it wasn’t. I said I’d chase after and check. This place is so damn hard to find…”
A passing nurse angrily scolded: “No shouting!”
Uncle Sun said in a voice like beating a gong and a drum, “I wasn’t shouting!”
The string that had been stuck in Jiang Xiaoyuan’s mind finally twanged lightly, and she realized she might have misunderstood something.
Uncle Sun: “Hurry up, your grandma wants to see you!”
Before Jiang Xiaoyuan could react, Qi Lian had already pushed her forward.
She momentarily lost herself, and started running down the hospital corridor. After two steps, she came to her senses, quickly trying to cover her emotions by fixing her hair and clothes, slowing down and walking with composure.
Just as Qi Lian was about to follow, Jiang Xiaoyuan’s phone, which he was holding, suddenly rang.
The caller ID displayed the words “Empress Dowager.” He hesitated for a moment before answering, “…Is this Teacher Jiang?”
Jiang Bo’s voice sounded tired, “Is she alright?”
Qi Lian: “She should be fine now.”
“That’s good,” Jiang Bo paused, then gave him a hospital address, “Could you come over in a bit?”
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