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Psst! We're moving!
One morning, I was taking the high-speed train from Beijing to Shanghai for a business trip. As Lin Zhiyi dropped me off at Beijing South Station, I sighed, “It’ll be around 2 PM when I get to Shanghai, so I’ll have no choice but to eat the boxed meals on the train. Ugh, the food on high-speed trains is always terrible...”
He grinned and said, “I have a trick to make your meal taste amazing. Just wait until after we pass Nanjing South Station—around 12:36 PM—and then eat. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”
“What’s the logic behind that?” I asked, puzzled.
“When you’re hungry, anything tastes good!” he joked.
“Go on, stop teasing me. I’m leaving now. Drive home safely!” I dragged my suitcase into the station.
Once the train started moving, I sat by the window, watching the scenery blur past. Suddenly, memories of traveling alone by train during our long-distance relationship came flooding back. Back then, I’d pack light, filled with anticipation and joy, heading to the city where he worked to see him. It felt surreal to think that he had been my constant companion for the past decade.
I pulled out a book I’d brought along to pass the time. As I opened it, a brand-new bookmark slipped out. On the back, in Lin Zhiyi’s handwriting, was a message: When you’re away on a business trip, my longing for you grows with distance. The farther you are from me, the more I miss you.
My heart fluttered like a teenage girl’s. I quickly snapped a photo of the bookmark and sent it to him on WeChat. Then I added, “Right now, your ‘Big Lemon Frog’ is speeding away from you at 350 kilometers per hour.” (At the time, the game Travel Frog was all the rage.)
A little while later, he replied, “No worries. My longing for you is chasing you at 350.21 kilometers per hour. 21, which means ‘I love you!’”
Fine, I couldn’t outwit him. I surrendered and went back to reading my book.
Time seemed to fly as I got lost in the world of the book. When I finally looked up and turned my gaze out the window, I realized we had already arrived at Nanjing South Station. My internal hunger alarm had gone off, and my stomach was growling loudly. Memories of the delicious duck blood vermicelli and lion’s head meatballs I’d eaten in Nanjing made my mouth water.
Oh well, even if the train food was terrible, I still needed to eat. I decided to wait until the passengers who had just boarded settled into their seats before heading to the dining car to buy something.
Not long after the train resumed its journey, a crew member walked down the aisle carrying several takeout bags. He stopped beside my seat and handed me one. “Hello, this is the meal you ordered. Please enjoy it while it’s hot.”
“Huh? I didn’t order anything. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?” I asked, confused.
“You’re in seat 16-car 08F, right? Yes, this is for you. It must be from a family member or friend. Check with them. Eat while it’s still warm,” he said, placing the bag on the tray table in front of me before walking away.
The first person I thought of was Lin Zhiyi. I immediately sent him a message: “Did you order takeout for me?”
He replied instantly: “Yes, how is it? Does it suit your taste?”
“Oh my gosh, you’re so thoughtful! I was starving, and your meal arrived just in time. I didn’t even know you could order takeout on high-speed trains now. Your skills are ‘666’! So, when you told me to eat after passing Nanjing South Station, did you plan this all along?”
His response confirmed my suspicion: “Guilty as charged. What punishment do you think I deserve for plotting to make sure you had a good meal on your trip?”
“Punishment: Spend the next hundred years looking after my heart.”
He replied simply: “Accepted.”
When you’re hungry, anything tastes good. I eagerly dug into the chicken leg and braised pork in front of me, completely forgetting about the duck blood vermicelli and lion’s head meatballs.
Halfway through my meal, my phone rang. Assuming it was a colleague from work, I picked it up. To my surprise, it was an unknown number. Thinking it might be a telemarketer, I answered anyway: “Hello? Who is this?”
“I’m the delivery guy who was supposed to bring you your takeout. Which carriage are you in? I couldn’t find you earlier.”
“It’s okay, I’ve already started eating,” I said, gesturing to my half-eaten lunch.
“What? Seriously? The crew member told me he couldn’t find you!”
I suspected there might have been a mix-up. “Was it from ‘True Kung Fu’?” I asked.
“No, it’s from ‘Old Uncle’! Did you forget what you ordered?” he asked, clearly baffled.
I explained, “My husband ordered it for me. I think there’s been a mistake. Can you figure out what happened?”
After hanging up, I messaged Lin Zhiyi: “There’s been a mix-up. I’ve almost finished eating the ‘True Kung Fu’ meal, but someone just called saying I ordered ‘Old Uncle.’”
“I didn’t order ‘True Kung Fu.’ They messed up. Tell them to send the correct one,” he replied.
Just then, the same crew member returned, holding another takeout bag from ‘Old Uncle.’ He apologized profusely: “I’m so sorry, I delivered the wrong meal earlier. Here’s the correct one. You can keep eating.”
“...” I looked at him skeptically. “Do I look like someone who can eat two full meals? And how are you going to explain this to the passenger who actually ordered ‘True Kung Fu’?”
“I’ll just pay for their meal myself. At worst, I’ll get a complaint or lose some bonus money. Better to upset one person than two. This is my fault. Please finish your meal,” he said, looking genuinely remorseful.
“I’ve already eaten. Since the meal was delivered to the wrong person, just give mine to the passenger who ordered ‘True Kung Fu,’” I suggested.
“If you don’t mind, that’s fine. Your meal was more expensive, though.”
“It’s okay. As long as everyone’s fed, that’s what matters.”
“Alright, thank you so much for understanding!” he said, picking up the bag and walking away. After a couple of steps, he turned back and handed me a few slips of paper. “Here, these are probably important to you.”
I took them and glanced at the first sheet: the takeout order included fish lion’s head rice, steamed egg with silverfish from Taihu Lake, vegetables, snacks, and tofu wraps—all dishes I loved. The second sheet was the receipt. At first, I chuckled, thinking Lin Zhiyi had become unusually meticulous, even issuing a receipt for a meal he bought for his wife. But upon closer inspection, the invoice wasn’t made out to a company—it read “Big Lin’s Love Lunch.”
My heart warmed instantly. Though I hadn’t technically eaten the “Love Lunch,” the entire experience left me feeling sweeter than honey. Even though I was traveling alone, Lin Zhiyi’s love followed me every step of the way, making me feel as though he were right beside me.
When I recounted the whole story to Lin Zhiyi, he sent me a poem. By the end of it, I couldn’t help but blush:
When you’re away on a business trip,
My longing for you grows with distance.
The farther you are from me,
The more I miss you.
When you’re by my side,
My love for you grows inversely with distance.
The closer you are to me,
The more I love you.
When the distance becomes negative,
My love for you reaches infinity.
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