NMBJ2 - 45

At the 60th anniversary celebration of their alma mater in October, many classmates returned. The undergraduate acting class of their year organized a reunion.

During the gathering, Zheng Youtong spoke on behalf of the male students, while Huang Xitang represented the female students. That night, Xitang drank some wine—a rare indulgence for her. Someone was playing the piano, someone else was singing, and under the soft glow of the lights, it seemed as though everyone’s youthful faces remained unchanged, still radiant and full of life.

Fu Mingkun had passed away, forever frozen at the age of thirty-one. 

Zhong Qiao’er had also left, eternally resting at twenty-two. 

But life, for those still here, had to go on.

Zhao Pingjin remembered that song. 

It was during Huang Xitang’s graduation ceremony, and he had been seated among the family members. At the time, he was still working at Jingchuang but had deliberately cleared his schedule that morning to attend her school event. As soon as his car entered the campus gates, he saw graduates in black academic robes bustling about everywhere. When he finally found Huang Xitang, her class was taking a group photo. Just before the photographer pressed the shutter, she caught his eye and winked at him.

The film academy’s graduation ceremony was held in the school’s standard screening hall. Zhao Pingjin sat casually in the audience, surrounded by counselors, head teachers, and parents of the graduates. When it was their class’s turn, the class monitor led the entire group in singing a song dedicated to their alma mater and beloved teachers—it was that very song.

A group of fresh-faced, vibrant young students stood on stage. Huang Xitang stood out like a clear, thriving sapling. By then, she was already filming Orange Boy, her future bright with promise, brimming with dreams. Even among a crowd of beautiful girls, her beauty shone uniquely—her small face glowing with vitality.

Back then, she was still his little one. 

“I gave my youth to you, and kept the years for myself.” 

Ten years later, when she sang this song again, so much had changed.

Zhao Pingjin lay at home, half of the western study’s window pushed open. The afternoon sunlight streamed in. The weather in Beijing had been pleasant since early spring.

Teacher Zhou had returned to Shanghai the day before. Ever since he insisted on coming back to Beijing, she split her time between being in the country and abroad. Sometimes she checked on him; other times, she visited his grandmother. The rest of the time, she stayed with her relatives overseas.

His father remained in Nanjing, planning to work until retirement. It was said that he had tracked down the female soldier from the old cultural troupe. She was married with children, but her family life was difficult. His father had visited her once and arranged a后勤 job at a school for her. Afterward, he never returned to that city.

His mother no longer interfered in such matters.

He continued to serve on the board of Zhongyuan. The workload wasn’t as intense as before, but he managed without much difficulty. Shen Min, now the general manager, consulted him on important matters.

Zhao Pingjin heard the soft rustle of footsteps outside the screen by the door. The elderly housekeeper entered to drape a blanket over him, gently chiding him as she felt his cool hands: “Leaving the window open to catch a breeze? Spring chills are no joke—you should be more careful.”

She was already in her seventies, still spry but no longer able to handle heavy caregiving duties. Zhao Pingjin had urged her to retire and offered to support her, but the old woman insisted that if she became useless in the household, she would return to her hometown in Northeast China.

The housekeeper carefully tucked the blanket around him and casually mentioned, “There’s quite a commotion next door today. Miss Jing’s second daughter is engaged to Shu’an.”

Zhao Pingjin naturally knew about this, but hearing it spoken aloud still left him momentarily speechless. After ensuring his hands were warmer, the housekeeper slowly left.

A few nights earlier, when he returned home from work, he saw Li Shu’an about to leave, followed by his secretary, both carrying several takeout boxes. Zhao Pingjin called out, “Shu’an, heading out?”

Li Shu’an replied, “Xitang’s filming tonight. It’ll probably run late, so I’m bringing her some midnight snacks.”

Zhao Pingjin glanced at the takeout bags in his hand. “From the hand-pulled noodle shop at the intersection?”

Li Shu’an smiled. “Yes, Donglin also said that place is decent.”

Zhao Pingjin nodded and didn’t say anything further, walking deeper into the hutong.

Li Shu’an got into his car and started the engine.

“Shu’an,” Zhao Pingjin suddenly turned back and stopped him. “That place is good, but their noodles are made with fresh eggs. She’s allergic to egg whites.”

Li Shu’an’s expression visibly froze for a moment, but he quickly recovered, waving dismissively. “The secretary bought these—they’re for the staff. I’ll get her something else separately.”

Zhao Pingjin stood by the car, smiled faintly, and walked back toward the house.

From the driver’s seat, Li Shu’an leaned out and called after him, “Hey, Zhouzi, thanks!”

Zhao Pingjin heard him, raised his arm in acknowledgment, but didn’t turn around.

He still worried about her, no matter who she married. He feared she might be mistreated. Sometimes it struck him that the person who had suffered the most while by his side was her. In those fleeting moments of clarity, his heart ached unbearably.

Lately, he often thought back to the time he visited her in Hengdian.

She was filming a night scene, and he waited for her to finish. Back then, she was still an unknown extra. When the lead actors emerged, they were surrounded by reporters and fans, leaving the surroundings eerily empty. The two of them walked silently along a field path in the dead of night.

Far across the fields, another crew was setting off fireworks. Too distant to hear, the bursts bloomed soundlessly in the night sky, rising and fading away.

Huang Xitang paused, looking up at the display. Beside her, watching the fireworks, was a man she deeply loved.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t understood it back then.

They walked through the deep night of a small southern town, neither speaking a word.

Now, in the warm afternoon of early spring in Beijing, a crabapple tree outside the study window had blossomed. Clusters of pale pink flowers adorned its delicate branches.

Zhao Pingjin lay quietly in the spring light for a moment, feeling a bit tired. He closed his eyes gently.

(End of the main story)