[Chasing the sun, chasing the day, chasing those moments that belong to both the present and the past.]

The night before departing for Italy, Zhou Leqi was at home packing her things. In the middle of packing, she suddenly rushed out of her room in a panic, searching for Yu Qing. Her expression was anxious, sweat forming on her forehead as she asked, “Mom, have you seen my pen?”

Yu Qing was sitting on the living room sofa at the time, holding an iPad and researching for inspiration for her next video. She hadn’t quite registered what her daughter was asking and casually replied, “Pen? What pen?”

“The one I’ve always carried with me,” Zhou Leqi’s voice began to tremble, “...I can’t find it.”

There was a faint sob in her voice.

Yu Qing was startled and quickly looked up, realizing which pen her daughter was referring to.

It was the pen that someone had given her during the college entrance exam many years ago. Over the years, she had always kept it with her, bringing it from City A to Beijing, from seven years ago to now.

Yu Qing knew how important that item was to her daughter, so she immediately stood up and joined Zhou Leqi in searching the entire house. After checking several places without success, Yu Qing began to worry that Zhou Leqi’s emotions might spiral out of control. Trying to stay calm herself, she continued the search while suggesting, “Hmm, it doesn’t seem to be in any of these places. Maybe it’s tucked away somewhere? Try to remember when you last had it?”

Zhou Leqi’s eyes were already red, and she stood there speechless, looking somewhat dazed. Yu Qing grew even more concerned and hurriedly stepped forward to gently support her frail daughter’s shoulders, trying to console her: “It’s okay if you can’t remember right now. It won’t be lost. Maybe it will turn up in a few days...”

After a pause, she added, “Or maybe you left it at the office...”

This last sentence suddenly gave Zhou Leqi hope. Her eyes focused sharply, no longer the vacant look they had before. Like a wind-up doll suddenly brought to life, she turned, grabbed her coat from the rack, and ran toward the door, startling Yu Qing who chased after her, asking, “Qiqi? What are you doing, Qiqi?”

Bang!

The door had already closed behind her as she ran out without looking back.

At 9:30 PM, Zhou Leqi got on the subway again, traveling from Tongzhou to the Third Ring Road.

By the time she swiped her card and entered the office building, it was nearly 11 PM. The security guard greeted her with a friendly smile and remarked in a thick Beijing accent, “Your company still working overtime this late?”

She didn’t have the energy to respond, only nodding briefly and forcing a smile before rushing into the elevator.

The office was empty, all the lights off. Zhou Leqi turned on her phone’s flashlight to illuminate the space, finally making her way to her desk. Her pen wasn’t in the pen holder. Her heart raced with anxiety, her palms sweating cold. Fortunately, she eventually found it among the pile of documents on her desk.

— It had been accidentally tucked inside a hardcover folder.

The emotion of “finding something lost” is difficult to describe. Sometimes it isn’t just about joy; it can feel like surviving a disaster, leaving one deeply shaken. The moment Zhou Leqi grasped the pen in her hand, her legs went weak, and she collapsed onto the floor.

She clutched it tightly, tears streaming silently down her face.

The pen was old.

It was very ordinary — the kind of black ballpoint pen sold in every stationery store, without a cap, operated by a spring-loaded button. Yet it had been well-preserved, without a single crack even after all these years. But its ink was nearly depleted, and its owner refused to replace the cartridge, stubbornly wanting to keep it exactly as it had been seven years ago.

Only she knew how much it meant to her.

For seven whole years, she had kept it, treating it like a talisman. After the college entrance exam, she never wrote with it again, but she would often fiddle with it, taking it everywhere she went. When happy, she would gently stroke it with her fingers; when upset, she would spin it anxiously. During moments of boredom or confusion, she would repeatedly press the spring mechanism, watching the tip extend and retract, as if conversing with the clicking sound.

It had accompanied her through countless moments. After that person abruptly left, it became a sort of substitute, propping up her nearly collapsing little world. With it, she barely managed to maintain a facade of calmness, resuming normal eating, studying, and living, making everyone believe she was fine, that she had moved on.

But she knew that wasn’t true.

It was a false state, hollow, like an empty shell that could shatter into pieces with the slightest tap. Yet she had crafted it to appear so real, deceiving many.

But her intention wasn’t to deceive others; she merely wanted to deceive herself. She had to fool herself, or else she would keep falling, like a tightrope walker who would plunge into an abyss the moment they relaxed even slightly, never able to climb back up.

Now she had finally found it...

It hadn’t been lost. It was still here.

It wasn’t like that person.

As long as she was careful enough... she wouldn’t lose it.

Because of the unexpected incident the previous night, Zhou Leqi naturally hadn’t rested well. She woke up late the next morning and arrived at the airport five minutes later than scheduled.

Her supervisor, Zeng Ruihong, had already arrived and was waiting for her at the baggage check-in area. Zhou Leqi, dragging her suitcase, hurried over and apologized sincerely for being late.

Zeng Ruihong was short and lean, with a prematurely aged appearance. Though only in his early thirties, his hair was thinning, and his skin sagged slightly. He wasn’t particularly handsome. Privately, people in the company said he couldn’t compete with President Pei. Even in terms of looks, he fell far behind. Investment bankers, after all, relied partly on appearances.

By now, Zeng Ruihong’s mood was sour. Though five minutes wasn’t a long wait, to him, it felt like an insult, at the very least indicating that Zhou Leqi didn’t value him enough.

He thought she must have cozied up to Pei Qiming, thus disregarding him entirely. How dare a newly hired intern treat him with such disrespect? Hmph, all thanks to Pei Qiming spoiling her. Office romances were truly despicable. On this business trip, he vowed to put her in her place, or he’d write his name backward!

Zeng Ruihong was seething inside, though outwardly he maintained composure, aside from a slightly cold expression. After telling Zhou Leqi, “It’s fine,” he turned to handle the baggage check-in.

Boarding the plane happened a few hours later.

Pielno’s wineries were primarily located in Tuscany and Piedmont, with an office also set up in Rome. Given that the direct flight from Beijing to Pisa Galileo International Airport in the Tuscany region wasn’t ideal timing, the administrative department had booked tickets to Rome instead. After resting for a day or two upon arrival, representatives from Pielno would escort them to Tuscany and Piedmont for an on-site inspection.

The Air China flight from Beijing to Rome typically departed once daily at 13:40 Beijing time. Unfortunately, this day there was a delay, and boarding was announced only after 14:00. The flight duration exceeded 11 hours, with an expected arrival in Rome at around 19:00 local time.

Flying was a tedious affair, but fortunately, thanks to the company, Zhou Leqi and Zeng Ruihong were seated in business class, their seats adjacent. Having not rested well the previous night, Zhou Leqi hoped to catch some sleep after boarding. However, Zeng Ruihong, displeased with her, kept subtly finding fault. Just as she closed her eyes to nap for half an hour, he sneered beside her, criticizing interns for changing their work attitudes once promoted, wasting valuable time on the flight without reviewing materials, and likely scrambling when they arrived at the company.

His words pricked her ears like needles.

Helpless and unwilling to provoke further conflict, Zhou Leqi forced herself to stay alert. She pulled out her laptop from her bag and reviewed the Pielno company materials she had already gone over multiple times.

As the plane prepared for takeoff, the announcement instructed passengers to turn off their phones. Coincidentally, Pei Qiming sent her a message, asking if the delayed flight had begun boarding. She replied, “Already boarded,” and he responded with an OK emoji, then asked, “Are you getting along well with Simon?”

Simon was Zeng Ruihong’s English name. Zhou Leqi knew Pei Qiming was really asking whether Zeng Ruihong had bullied her or given her a hard time.

She pursed her lips, quickly hiding her phone under the high partition of the business class seat so the person sitting next to her wouldn’t see. After a moment’s thought, she replied, “Everything’s normal. I’ll turn off my phone now.”

With that, she powered off her phone just before the flight attendant came to remind her.

Flying, of course, was a boring experience. Waiting often bred dissatisfaction, and the passage of time wore away many things. First to go was joy and novelty, followed by patience and energy. Eventually, even irritation and fatigue disappeared, leaving a perfect void.

Zhou Leqi only shut down her computer and began to zone out when Zeng Ruihong beside her started snoring.

She turned to look out the window at the endless clouds, watching the dim sunlight bathe the wide wings of the plane. Imagining the lands below, indistinguishable from this height, her heart suddenly felt empty. She began to feel that the plane she was on was attempting a sorrowful feat, chasing time westward from Beijing, desperately trying to evade the relentless flow of time, using the small time difference to resist the arrival of a new day.

How fast it flew, as if it dared not stop for a moment, not even pausing to catch its breath, fearing it would be caught and swallowed whole by the vast night trailing behind it. It chased the sun, chased the daylight, chased moments that belonged to both the present and the past, and then deceived itself into believing it had conquered the supreme and irreversible dimension of time within three-dimensional space.

But what was the reality?

The reality was that night eventually arrived. Despite its efforts, the plane couldn’t outrun the Earth’s rotation. Its frantic journey through the vast universe was almost meaningless. Even the slow rotation of a tiny planet was enough to completely erase its achievements — the night it feared so deeply caught up effortlessly, showing no mercy as it dragged the plane into the lightless clouds.

Zhou Leqi began to feel heartache again.

Perhaps she really was mentally ill, so easily stirred by external events. Even a simple flight could send continuous tremors through her inner world. The moment the plane was finally swallowed by the night, she felt as though she couldn’t hold on any longer. An inexplicable sadness overwhelmed her heart, pressing down on her chest until she could hardly breathe.

This forced her to dig out the pen that had accompanied her for seven years from her carry-on luggage. She wanted to talk to it, yearning to hear its clicking sound by repeatedly pressing it. However, most passengers in the quiet cabin were already asleep, so she had to remain silent, communicating with it only through gentle touches in the dim light.

She stared at it quietly, as if seeing distant people and events through it, silently posing an earnest question:

Do you think everything will get better again?