FQ chapter 15

The sound was loud enough to startle Fan Qing. He quickly turned off the running water and looked over in surprise.

“You okay?”

Luan Ye didn’t answer.

Or rather, he didn’t even hear Fan Qing. He stared at the short sentence on his phone for a long while before finally lifting his head—right into Fan Qing’s gaze.

“…What?” he asked.

Seeing the look on his face, Fan Qing frowned and took two steps toward him, repeating, “Are you okay?”

The first time he’d asked was because he thought Luan Ye had fallen. Now it was because his face looked terrible—brows slightly drawn together, expression cold, just like the night they first met on the highway.

After a few seconds, Luan Ye turned off his phone and replied, “I’m fine.”

He turned to set the fallen stool upright. Without looking back, he muttered, “I’m leaving.”

“You—”

As soon as Luan Ye walked out of the kitchen, Fan Qing instinctively followed.

Laifu had finished eating and came over to circle around Luan Ye. This time, Luan Ye didn’t respond—didn’t even look down.

“Are you still going?” Fan Qing called out behind him.

“What?”

Luan Ye had reached the door when he paused and turned his head. It took him a moment to realize what Fan Qing was asking about. “Oh, that lake or whatever.”

“Lu—”

“Not going,” Luan Ye cut him off without hesitation.

Fan Qing looked at him. “Then what about Dukezong, or the snow mountain? Fewer people go to those. A few others are planning…”

Luan Ye suddenly turned and glared at him.

“Not going.”

His tone was cold. “I’m not going anywhere for the next few days. Don’t bother me.”

After a moment, Fan Qing nodded.

Luan Ye turned and pushed open the front gate, leaving.

The alley twisted and turned, with barely any people around. Luan Ye walked absentmindedly, letting instinct guide his steps. He reached into his pocket to get a cigarette. If one looked closely, they’d see his whole hand was trembling.

He fumbled around and found nothing—only then remembering he hadn’t brought any with him.

“F*ck,” he swore. His hand was still shaking. He shoved it into his coat pocket and kept walking.

Honestly, up until just now—even right before opening that email—he’d been in a pretty good mood.

Whether it was napping in his room, watching Granny Mu embroider insoles downstairs, listening to Qiao Feibai sing, going around with Fan Qing for mushrooms or the snow mountain… even just earlier, chatting all afternoon and eating a simple bowl of noodles together—

For most of those moments, Luan Ye had been happy. Or at least, at peace.

Like a fish surfacing for air after spending too long in deep water, finally able to breathe again and not suffocate.

But Bai Mingchuan’s message was like a chain from the ocean depths, yanking him right back down.

Come home soon.

Like the fish that surfaces and sees sky or seagulls but must eventually return to the deep.

Like Luan Ye, who ran all the way from across the ocean to some nameless mountain village in the southwest—yet Bai Mingchuan didn’t need to know where he was or what he was doing. Just one sentence, come home soon, was enough to ruin everything.

Who knows what country Bai Mingchuan was in when he sent that message? It didn’t matter—anyway, his hotels seemed to be everywhere.

Maybe he had even gone to check Luan Ye’s house and studio, only to find he hadn’t returned yet.

That suffocating feeling of being dragged underwater returned again.

The stone-paved road under his feet twisted left and right, narrowing, widening, and narrowing again. The sound of water in the drainage ditch beside him rose and fell. When Luan Ye looked up again, he had no idea where he had ended up.

In the distance, the snowy mountains swallowed the light. Only the faint afterglow of the sunset remained on the horizon. The houses on both sides of the road were sparse, with a few shops selling silver jewelry and ethnic clothing.

There was an unknown store on the right. Its small square windows were lined up in a row and painted in various bright colors. A heavy wooden door was half open, and on it was a colorful wood carving—a fish biting a lotus flower.

The sign on the side was also carved from wood, with three crooked characters: “Go See the Mountains.”

Luan Ye’s thoughts were a mess. He instinctively felt the name was familiar, but before he could retrieve the memory, a golden head popped out from inside.

A blond head reached out, trying to push the other half of the door open. The person turned his head casually, glanced around, and upon spotting Luan Ye on the roadside, immediately forgot about the door, jumped off the steps, and shouted, “Ye-ge!”

It was Qiao Feibai.

Luan Ye remembered—this was the bar Qiao Feibai had mentioned before, the place where he sang.

Qiao Feibai darted over, threw an arm around Luan Ye’s shoulder, and started pulling him into the bar.

“You really came to hear me sing! I thought you were joking! I’m not ready yet—go sit down for a bit! Have you eaten? If not, we’ve got pizza!”

Forget rejecting—Luan Ye didn’t even get the chance to speak before he was dragged inside and shoved onto a sofa.

There were two other people in the bar besides Luan Ye: a girl with short red hair and a bald man in a leather jacket. They were talking at the bar but turned to look when he came in.

“Qu Jie and Da Yao—they run the bar together,” Qiao Feibai quickly introduced. “Ye-ge’s my upstairs neighbor, here to hear me sing!”

Whatever Luan Ye had been about to say was cut off by the introduction. He just nodded at the two of them. “Luan Ye.”

They nodded back in greeting. Qu Jie spoke up—her voice was a little low, but very pleasant.

“Oh, the handsome neighbor Xiao Qiao mentioned.”

Luan Ye forced a polite smile. Qiao Feibai asked, “Have you eaten? If not, I’ll get Da Yao to make you a pizza. He’s the head chef.”

“Head chef and waiter,” Da Yao added.

“I’ve eaten,” Luan Ye replied.

Qiao Feibai assumed he had eaten at home and asked casually, “What did Granny Mu cook? I didn’t go back for dinner today.”

“I don’t know.” Luan Ye paused before answering, “I ate at a friend’s place.”

Qiao Feibai let out an “Oh,” didn’t think much of it, and continued, “Then sit for a while. If you want a drink, tell Qu Jie. It’s on me.”

He pointed at the small stage with various equipment across the room. “I need to go get ready.”

Luan Ye ordered half a dozen dark beers. When they were served, he drank more than half a can like it was water.

Da Yao turned to look, a little surprised. “Not bad—you hold your liquor well.”

Luan Ye’s hands had stopped trembling. He gave a polite smile.

Qiao Feibai went on stage to start sound-checking. The stage was on the east side of the bar. The interior was eclectic—walls decorated with colorful flags, photo frames, and postcards. A bull skull hung from the central pillar. The space wasn’t large, but it was crammed with shelves, a wine rack, and even a prayer wheel in the corner.

By the time Qiao Feibai started singing his first song, more guests began arriving.

He was good at interacting with the crowd and had a wide setlist. The bar quickly became lively. Sitting by the wall, Luan Ye finished two cans of dark beer and gradually calmed down.

His phone was still in his pocket. He took it out and read that email again.

If he were still nineteen or twenty, he might’ve thought it was a sign of concern. But after all these years, Luan Ye understood—

It was a warning from Bai Mingchuan.

When he got back, he’d probably be asked why he changed his number, went off the grid, and ran off irresponsibly. Only at the end would he be asked where he’d gone and whether he had fun—but the truth was, none of it really mattered.

This pattern hadn’t been obvious at first, but it had only become more extreme over time.

Whatever. Let him send warnings, then.

Luan Ye deleted the email and blocked Bai Mingchuan’s account.

He opened another beer, exited his inbox, and tapped into WeChat.

He now had four contacts. The first was Granny Mu’s son, who hadn’t contacted him again since move-in day. Then Granny Mu herself, whom he’d added over tea—she wasn’t used to chatting, so they only used it for rent and grocery transfers. Then there was Qiao Feibai, who had insisted on adding him but clearly preferred talking—his chat still sat at just the greeting.

The one he talked to the most, still at the top of his chat list, was Fan Qing.

Luan Ye stared at Fan Qing’s profile picture for a while and began to regret things.

The moment he received Bai Mingchuan’s email, it felt like he was being pulled back—panic and a sense of disruption dragging his mood to rock bottom.

He knew he’d definitely spoken poorly—terribly, in fact.

He should apologize.

He opened their chat, stared at it for a long time, then closed it again.

He didn’t know how to say it.

Sorry, my tone wasn’t great earlier.

Sorry, I was in a bad mood just now.

Everything sounded weird.

Maybe he’d just wait a few days and ask if there were any new tour groups. Luan Ye tapped his phone on the table, thinking.

Adults giving themselves a graceful way out… Surely a grown-up kid would understand.

Before he could figure it out, Qiao Feibai had finished singing a few requested songs. He jumped off his stool and strummed a chord quickly.

“This next song is for my friend! Thanks for coming to hear me sing!”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Luan Ye felt a little guilty. As the applause rang out, he raised his glass to Qiao Feibai.

By the time he finished the last can of beer, it was completely dark outside. The bar was lively, more guests were arriving, and all three people on and off stage were busy. No one had time to pay attention to Luan Ye.

No one told him how much the beers cost, and he didn’t ask. He just scanned the QR code on the wall and transferred 300 yuan—consider the extra a thank-you for Qiao Feibai’s performance.

Qiao Feibai was still on stage. When Luan Ye was leaving, he gave him a signal. Qiao Feibai got the message and waved enthusiastically. Luan Ye pushed open the wooden door and walked out.

It was dark. Everything around him was dim and blurry. The streetlights were spaced far apart, casting uneven light. Since he’d wandered here blindly, it was even harder to recognize the way back. He opened his phone and followed the navigation instructions.

The night wind was cool, dispersing the faint scent of alcohol on him. The entire street was quiet, the only sound coming from his phone’s navigation.

Go straight for 200 meters. Turn left, continue for 300 meters. At the third intersection, turn right…

Halfway there, the surroundings began to look familiar. Luan Ye slipped his phone back into his pocket, walked to the corner, and turned right.

In the alley, under a streetlight, Fan Qing had just turned around.

Luan Ye stopped.

The two stood several meters apart, staring at each other down the narrow alley. The streetlight was soft, and their shadows faint. A wall of blooming bougainvillea spread beside them.

Maybe because he hadn’t moved for a while, the phone assumed he was lost. The mechanical female voice started again:

You are about to arrive at your destination.