Chapter 22: He’s Not Doing Well Either

Cheng Yanqing was coming back a day early, so Cheng Wanyue had one less day to stay at Qing Hang’s place.

This week, Qing Hang couldn’t take a break due to work, causing his fever to subside during the day only to return at night. On the first night, without telling Cheng Wanyue in advance, he went straight to wait for her at her workplace. Despite being sick himself, he didn’t care at all. On the second day, although she told him not to come, he still did. The same happened on the third and fourth days.

On the last day, they both had the day off, and Qing Hang’s fever had subsided.

He had mastered the “money-for-sex deal” perfectly: holding hands for half an hour equaled one meal.

In the evening, they went to the supermarket together. On their way back, someone handing out flyers gave Cheng Wanyue a leaflet; it was a promotional event run by college students. She took it and casually stuffed it into the bag Qing Hang was carrying.

After dinner, there was still plenty of time. Qing Hang had already taken a shower when he was suddenly called to a meeting at the hospital. Cheng Wanyue, bored at home alone, opened her phone to look at nail art pictures. She wasn’t friendless, nor lacking in entertainment options—people inviting her out never stopped, and she could go out anytime she wanted.

While looking through the pictures, she started trimming her nails, accidentally cutting her ring finger and drawing blood.

The box of cigarettes was still in the coffee table drawer. Cheng Wanyue rummaged through it but couldn’t find a band-aid. She remembered seeing one somewhere but couldn’t recall where. Wrapping her finger in tissue, she sent a WeChat message to Qing Hang.

Qing Hang was attending a lecture hosted by the hospital. The conference hall was large and almost full. He was seated towards the back, and his phone was on silent mode. He hadn’t downloaded any unnecessary apps, so few junk ads popped up. When the screen lit up, he saw it was a WeChat message and opened it.

Y: Can you slack off during your meeting?

Lune: Now I can.

Y: I’m hurt!

She sent over a picture.

It was just a small cut, but she had wrapped it up as if it were a tiny light bulb.

A colleague glanced over unintentionally, thinking Qing Hang was reading funny news.

Lune: There are band-aids in the left drawer of my desk in the bedroom. Go check first, and if you can’t find them, let me know.

Upon hearing this, Cheng Wanyue remembered seeing them in the drawer while looking for fever medicine.

She put on her slippers, got up from the sofa, and went to the bedroom. Opening the left drawer, the first thing she saw was the wooden box. The band-aids were underneath a medicine box. Her finger had stopped bleeding, so she took one band-aid, tore it open, and applied it.

How long she stood in front of the desk was how long her gaze lingered on the wooden box.

Back then, Qing Hang was the most mysterious person in school. Cheng Wanyue always felt he had many secrets, but upon uncovering them, she realized they weren’t secrets—they were shackles he dared not recall but couldn’t shake off.

Fate had given him a sharp mind, superior facial features and height, maturity and sensibility far beyond his peers, an indomitable will, and a strong heart. But it had also taken away much.

The box wasn’t locked; it only had a metal clasp.

Should she look inside?

Cheng Wanyue hesitated.

During her youthful years, she had written a few diary entries, which Cheng Yanqing had not only read secretly but also loudly recited in front of the family.

Thinking to herself that she would only take a quick peek and stop if it was too private, Cheng Wanyue pulled out a chair, sat down carefully, and placed the box on the desk.

This box was old, and the metal clasp was rusted. Opening it wasn’t very smooth.

He probably hadn’t opened it in a long time.

Cheng Wanyue closed her eyes first. After opening the lid, she slowly opened one eye to peek inside. There were only three items.

An old flip phone.

A matching charger.

A photograph.

Cheng Wanyue saw herself in the photo.

The photo had been torn apart multiple times, glued back together, torn again, and glued again. There were numerous tear marks, and transparent tape covered the entire photo, as if it had been laminated.

Qing Hang had been granted early admission and didn’t graduate with her, so he didn’t have a graduation photo. Cheng Wanyue could no longer remember when this photo was taken. The pixel quality was low, but she could barely recognize it as being taken in their Grade 11 classroom based on the books on the desk.

There were many people in the photo, but they were all blurry.

Only she and Qing Hang were clear.

She was watching a performance, and he was watching her.

It was New Year’s Day, and they were having a New Year’s Eve party in the classroom. Their homeroom teacher brought a camera to school and took many photos and videos of the students. Later, these were uploaded to the QQ photo album for everyone to download and save freely.

This must have been one of those photos.

Cheng Wanyue had countless photos from childhood to adulthood. When she was little, her parents took pictures of her, and as she grew older, she took them herself. In her room at home in Baicheng, one wall was covered with hundreds of group photos. The people standing next to her changed from the liberal arts class to the science class, including both boys and girls, teachers, and even the principal—but never Qing Hang.

The moments captured in photos remain forever frozen in time. Even if she couldn’t recall what was said or done then, looking at the youthful faces in the photos stirred her heart and emotions, overwhelming and unstoppable.

Cheng Wanyue charged the old phone and waited a long time for it to turn on.

The phone was slow to respond, and the battery grew hot. Her palms began to sweat as well. There was nothing in the photo album, but she accidentally pressed the messages.

There were only messages from two people.

One number had no name saved; it was a message from the crematorium staff telling Qing Hang to come and collect the ashes.

The other was her. The contact name Qing Hang had saved for her number was still the one she had forced him to save: Cheng Meili.

The first message Cheng Wanyue saw was dated January 2014, a few days earlier than the one from the crematorium staff. By the lunar calendar, it was still winter 2013 since the New Year hadn’t yet passed.

[Cheng Wanyue, contact me, just once.]

This message had not been sent, likely due to insufficient balance or some other reason.

Cheng Wanyue continued to scroll through their past messages, which were all still there.

“He didn’t have it easy either,” she murmured, her voice choked with emotion.

The sound of the door opening came from outside. Cheng Wanyue snapped back to reality and quickly turned off the phone, returning it to its original position. In her haste, she got her hand caught in the drawer and knocked over the pen holder on the desk.

Qing Hang knocked on the door and opened it to find her squatting on the floor picking up things.

“I’ll pick them up,” he walked in, making a rare joke, “If your finger gets injured again, it’ll be troublesome.”

Cheng Wanyue kept her head down and didn’t speak.

She stood up to put the pens back while Qing Hang remained crouched. Looking up, he noticed the moisture at the corner of her eyes. “Why are you crying? Does it still hurt?”

“I wanted to get some snacks, but I got pinched again.”

Qing Hang had bought several bags of snacks every time he went grocery shopping this week.

“The table is old, and the drawer is hard to close; it’s my fault for forgetting to tell you,” Qing Hang examined her hands, checking each finger carefully, finding no obvious marks. “The snacks aren’t here; they’re in the kitchen.”

Cheng Wanyue squatted down and knelt on the ground, “Let me check if there are any more pens under the table… Hey, what’s this?”

She reached under the table and pulled out something.

It was a red mesh bag tied with a red drawstring, containing a piece of red cloth with the words “Peace and Good Fortune” written on it.

It was clean, having just fallen.

“Isn’t this the blessing charm from Ji Ming Temple in Nanjing?” Cheng Wanyue owned blessing charms from all over the country, and her family would also bring her some when traveling abroad. “Did someone get this for you? Qing Hang, who got this for you?”

Qing Hang avoided her gaze, “No one got it for me.”

“Then did you get it for yourself, or for someone else?” Cheng Wanyue followed behind Qing Hang, taking a few quick steps to catch up and grabbing his hand, “When did you go to Nanjing?”

Qing Hang evaded the question, and she persistently pursued him. They tussled until they reached the kitchen.

She asked again.

Qing Hang’s face showed little emotion, “I won’t tell you.”

“I’m angry now, and I’m going home immediately,” Cheng Wanyue took a step back, preparing to storm out, but the next second, Qing Hang grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

He held her tight, and she couldn’t shake him off.

Cheng Wanyue exerted all her strength to pry open his fingers, working up a sweat.

Qing Hang spoke softly, “I went in 2019.”

That year, her whole family spent the Spring Festival in Nanjing.

“What did you go for?”

“To attend an academic conference with my mentor.”

“Just the conference?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Say it again.”

Qing Hang sighed helplessly, “I also visited Cheng Yuzhou’s family to pay New Year’s greetings to Uncle Cheng and Aunt Yang.”

Cheng Wanyue remembered this incident; she was the only one who hadn’t seen Qing Hang that Spring Festival. “Why did you leave before I returned?”

“Aren’t you on a date?”

“Who said I was on a date?”

“Uncle Cheng said so.”

That day, Qing Hang stayed at the Cheng household for a long time. Given his personality, he wouldn’t stay for a meal during such a family-oriented festival as Spring Festival.

What—or rather, whom—was he waiting for? His anticipation, including the nervousness when knocking on the door, gradually faded with each passing moment.

Just before leaving, Cheng Guo’an mentioned, “Yueyue went on a date.”

His mentor was returning to Beijing in two days. The next day, Qing Hang accompanied friends to Ji Ming Temple. Shortly after entering, they got separated in the crowd. He heard people saying that praying for love and peace here was very effective. He couldn’t pray for love for Cheng Wanyue—she didn’t need that.

Falling for her wasn’t difficult; resisting her was.

Back then, Cheng Wanyue easily ditched Qing Hang. No one knew.

Likewise, no one knew that Qing Hang prayed for Cheng Wanyue’s safety in Nanjing.

“I didn’t go on a date. How could Dad say that? I think I went… Oh, I don’t remember, but it definitely wasn’t a date.” Cheng Wanyue felt no guilt over something she hadn’t done. “Qing Hang, didn’t you always want to know what I was doing those years before I repeated a grade? Don’t ask anyone else; when I feel like telling you, you’ll know.”

Her rapid topic shift linked two matters together, leading Qing Hang to mistakenly believe she had been dating during those years. She was capable of such things.

He turned away, “I don’t want to know.”

Cheng Wanyue asked, “Really?”

He said, “At least today, I don’t want to know.”

“Then don’t regret it,” Cheng Wanyue rummaged through the snack rack, finding all her favorites inside.

Qing Hang was boiling water, listening to the rustling sounds behind him. Suddenly, he realized his tone earlier wasn’t good. Whenever she was unhappy, he instinctively reflected on what he might have done wrong and apologized.

“I…”

“Qing Hang!” Cheng Wanyue interrupted him, slowly turning around with a plastic card in her hand, “No wonder you didn’t say anything when I talked about buying condoms. You already had them.”

Qing Hang stared at the item in her hand, stunned for several seconds.

He explained helplessly, “I didn’t buy them; it was… someone handing out advertisements on the street who forced it on me. When we returned from the supermarket in the afternoon, those college students were still doing promotional activities at the intersection nearby. I told you not to take it, but you insisted.”

Her working hours were packed, and he forgot to tidy up.

Cheng Wanyue rummaged through today’s bag again, and sure enough, there was another one stuck on the back of the flyer inside.

Now, there were two.

“I’m a bit angry,” she took a deep breath, “Does this thing expire?”

Qing Hang turned his eyes away, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either, but if we don’t use it, it will definitely go to waste since they gave it to us,” Cheng Wanyue stood on tiptoe, hooking her arms around his neck, “Let’s try one first, see if the size fits.”