Chapter 72

Flight delays reveal the most about human nature.

During the six-hour delay, the mist outside the terminal looked like a scene from a movie. The seating area was packed, and global travelers stuck there kept making phone calls, arguing, complaining, feeding babies, scolding children, seeking help from the airport, and reporting their safety.

The flight, which stopped in Hong Kong and then in Ning, saw a mix of Mandarin and Cantonese voices.

“Baby, it’s okay, wait for me.”

“I miss you.”

“Dad, Mom, the flight is delayed. I don’t know when it will take off. Don’t worry, rest early.”

“Baby, Grandma has finished playing. Close your eyes and sleep. Tomorrow the gift will be here.”

“Damn it, I don’t know what the airport is doing. I’m fine, fine. Tell the clients…”

…

A man with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low, covering the upper half of his face, sat silently on a bench. No one approached him until his phone vibrated. His body tensed slightly, and his eyes, which had been closed, slowly opened. His movement to pull out the phone was slow, and the corner of his mouth that wasn’t covered by the hood tightened, revealing his inner unease.

It was a message from Xiang Xiang Lianqiao.

It was already late at night in China. He had already informed Xiang Xiang Lianqiao about the delay and told him to rest early. However, the elderly man seemed unable to rest easy and had stayed up to ask him whether the flight had taken off.

Xiang Xiang Feiran informed him that he had boarded.

He hadn’t slept at all last night, and Shang Shang Mingbao had finally said the words—breaking up.

“Since it’s destined to end with no result, I don’t want to continue.”

No matter how hard Xiang Xiang Feiran tried to focus, he couldn’t make out her expression or discern any hint of her being petulant.

“Don’t say things out of anger.” He continued to grip her wrist tightly, “Take it back, babe, don’t say goodbye like this.”

He was unaware of the red veins in his eyes, which were terrifying.

“It’s not anger. I just suddenly realized something,” Shang Shang Mingbao said gently, both her words and her attempt to free herself soft. “Otherwise, you might want to think it over again.”

She was pulled back into Xiang Xiang Feiran’s embrace. He wouldn’t let go, and in the midst of the unbearable pain, he could only press his lips to her hair and kiss her: “Baby, don’t force me like this… Don’t force me this way.”

Shang Shang Mingbao closed her eyes, no longer speaking. Her love for him was so obvious that no one could miss it—this was nothing but a desperate measure. It was the most naive tactic, relying on the fact that she knew Xiang Xiang Feiran loved her unconditionally.

Before leaving, Shang Shang Mingbao removed the keys to the apartment and placed them, along with the Christmas ornament she had bought with Xiang Xiang Feiran during their first year together, on the entrance table. “This place is nice, but I won’t be coming back.”

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Xiang Xiang Feiran remained concerned for her safety and insisted on seeing her home. When he heard her say, “No need, my driver is on his way,” while changing her shoes, he looked at her pale, silent face and suddenly felt a desire to hurt him and herself simultaneously. She said, “Xiang Feiran, everything you’ve done for me could be achieved with just hiring a few workers in my world.”

Xiang Xiang Feiran’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the wall, as if he had been struck internally. After putting on his basketball shoes, he lifted his face from the light’s shadow and nodded, “I’ll take you downstairs.”

Shang Shang Mingbao’s tears, which had briefly stopped, began to flow again. She wanted to ask him why he didn’t react to her denial and devaluation of their relationship, why he didn’t get angry or say something harsh in response. But she asked nothing and didn’t look back as she slammed the door behind her.

Xiang Xiang Feiran kept his promise and went downstairs with her, waiting with her until her driver arrived and watching her get into the car.

The atmosphere was delicate, and the driver could see the subtlety. As the car left the street, he looked at his young lady in the rearview mirror.

The person who usually cried loudly was now sitting quietly by the window, not making a sound, and her tears flowed endlessly.

Xiang Xiang Feiran bought a pack of cigarettes from a convenience store, smoked two, and then returned to the apartment. Since coming back from Boston, he had been staying here. As he cleared out and shipped away items, the apartment gradually returned to its original emptiness. He continued his habit of packing all the trash and taking it downstairs to throw away. Like three days after their first Christmas together, he lifted the lid of the trash bin and stood silently for a few seconds.

Before leaving, he placed his key next to Shang Shang Mingbao’s on the entrance table, letting them jingle together in the ceramic tray.

No more sound followed.

By 1 p.m., the fog had lifted, and boarding finally began.

The 21-hour flight would not have someone switching from first class to sit next to him while he slept. Although he had almost vomited from flying in recent years, no flight had felt so unbearable. His post-work life was difficult, with a mountain of tasks, and he had even developed the skill of debugging while waiting in line to board, making every second count. Once on the plane, writing papers and reading literature were routine because he knew he would see her after landing, and he took satisfaction in that, firmly believing he was the luckiest person on the plane.

But today, Xiang Xiang Feiran didn’t know what to do.

He sat by the aisle, and when the flight attendant first came around with meals, she seemed startled by his pale face and leaned down to ask if he was feeling unwell.

Yes, he was so silent, his face devoid of color, a sickly pallor, his brows tightly furrowed, and the bright light from the window made him look translucent as if he might disappear.

Xiang Xiang Feiran said no, but it didn’t seem to ease their concern. From then until landing, the flight attendants kept a close eye on him.

During the layover in Hong Kong, Xiang Xiang Feiran informed Xiang Xiang Lianqiao of the correct landing time. In this city that held meaning for her, amidst the bustling international airport surrounded by electronic billboards and advertisements, he closed his eyes, went to the restroom to wash his hands, and unexpectedly vomited without any warning.

Along with the contents of his stomach, he expelled a pain that had surpassed his body’s capacity, every vein and nerve no longer obeying his commands, merely numbing instinctively.

The water flowed continuously, and he gripped the faucet with a neurotic force.

The flight to the city was less than an hour, and Xiang Xiang Feiran had a very long dream. In the dream, he fixed a bug—a bug between not being able to marry and not wanting to break up.

Why? Knowing he couldn’t give her a future, why did he still want to hold on and love her for a few more years? If from the beginning they had tacitly agreed on the boundary of not getting married, then after such an intense three years, the amber honey had painted the white wall, and he had avoided it while she had harbored hope.

It wasn’t her fault.

He had been wrong from the start; no one could precisely control the amount of love.

The plane landed roughly, with a loud “thud” that jolted him from his dream to reality. Xiang Xiang Feiran shook, his fear awakening him because the decision had already been made in the dream.

After returning home for a few days, Xiang Xiang Lianqiao didn’t ask Xiang Xiang Feiran about much else. Instead, he accompanied him on various errands, such as visiting his future workplace, touring the dormitory building, and picking up a car.

Xiang Xiang Lianqiao commented that Xiang Xiang Feiran seemed too gloomy. Initially intending to buy him a cooler BMW, he ultimately chose a Benz. The older generation in the Bay Area has a sentimental attachment to Mercedes and Lexus, reminiscing about the early days when these luxury cars first entered the Chinese market.

Xiang Xiang Feiran wasn’t particularly interested in cars. Since he had decided to stay in a dormitory, riding his carbon fiber road bike like in New York was fine with him. He liked the bike for its quiet and light feel, and the wind on turns had a certain curve to it. But since it was Xiang Xiang Lianqiao’s gesture, he accepted the car keys.

The 4S store prepared a grand car delivery ceremony, decorated with flowers and balloons. Although Xiang Feiran was indifferent, Xiang Lianqiao insisted, so he pushed his wheelchair and took a photo.

Xiang Lianqiao was very happy when he was helped into the passenger seat, saying that after sitting in the back seat for a lifetime, the view from the front seat was so refreshing.

Used to luxury cars like Hongqi, calling a Benz a “capitalist’s car” made Xiang Feiran want to laugh.

He took him for a drive, following his directions to a residential area. With a premonition in his heart, the surprise wasn’t very strong when the house keys were handed over.

Xiang Lianqiao said he originally wanted to buy a large flat for him, but since it wasn’t convenient for growing flowers and trees, he feared he would be lonely in the future.

Xiang Feiran accompanied him to sit in the garden, basking in the sun for a long time. October in Ning City was still summer but not too hot. The afternoon breeze was gentle, with the scent of osmanthus flowers.

That afternoon felt very long. He visited the tailor who had been making suits for Xiang Lianqiao. The retired old tailor, waiting in the shop, put on his glasses and measured Xiang Feiran’s height, arm length, shoulder width, neck circumference, waist circumference… measuring while chatting with Xiang Lianqiao.

Xiang Lianqiao, leaning on a cane, watched with a smile.

Xiang Feiran eventually took him to the botanical garden. Stripped of all his impressive titles and identities, he was just an ordinary old man with white hair and a limp, whether from a bullet during an evacuation or a fall down the stairs, it was still a limp.

He enjoyed looking at flowers and plants, listening to Xiang Feiran’s explanations with great interest. He touched the trunks of trees planted by old friends, rubbing them for a long time, saying, “This was planted by my old boss.” When it was first planted, he gestured to show how small it was, “and now it’s this tall.” In black-and-white photos, he stood beside the trees, looking elegant with a hint of childishness many years later.

Recalling the past, the days of glory.

Someone must have recognized him and reported it. After a while, the leaders of the botanical garden arrived and accompanied him for another round of the garden. The sunset was beautiful, and Xiang Lianqiao, listening to the explanations, drowsed in his wheelchair.

Dinner was also eaten outside. The assistant had booked an old, famous restaurant that Xiang Lianqiao had loved for a lifetime. The restaurant’s owner specifically waited there, toasting several cups, speaking festive words, and praising Xiang Lianqiao for his youthful appearance and vigorous spirit.

In reality, he was exhausted, and during the return trip, he dozed off in the passenger seat, completely worn out.

Back at the Xiang residence, a houseful of workers greeted him like children, asking if Ambassador Xiang had enjoyed himself outside today. Xiang Lianqiao had a bit of a stubborn temperament and, despite being tired, insisted on going back to his study to write a preface for a student’s book that he had yet to finish.

He wrote tirelessly for an hour until ten o’clock, then asked the assistant to take him downstairs. Xiang Feiran stood under the acacia tree his mother had planted, doing nothing but standing there.

Xiang Lianqiao still had the camel hair blanket Xiang Feiran had given him years ago on his legs and called Xiang Feiran to talk with him again.

“What are your plans with Shang Mingbao?”

The assistant had already left, and the crickets chirped in the grass, making the night even quieter.

Xiang Feiran remained silent. Xiang Lianqiao spoke for him: “If something has no outcome, it’s better to give up.”

Xiang Feiran’s eyes trembled, but he still didn’t speak.

“Business has its difficulties, and the children of businessmen also have their troubles. Some things are not determined by fate but are just the way the world is. You should understand that. Having spent time together and treated each other well is enough. You should know that in this world, many people consider even love a luxury.”

Xiang Lianqiao misunderstood and thought the hopelessness bound by social status, family background, and political-business distinctions was his grandson’s.

Xiang Feiran gripped the handles of his wheelchair tightly, his hands turning pale: “I know, I will break up.”

Hearing this, Xiang Lianqiao couldn’t feel comforted, only letting out a long sigh.

He lowered his face in silence for a moment: “Had I known, I shouldn’t have agreed to let Shang Bo Ying’s granddaughter come here for a vacation back then…”

Before the sigh had faded, a flustered but resolute voice came from above: “Don’t.”

Xiang Lianqiao’s body stiffened.

The voice from above seemed to come through clenched teeth, from the suffocating line of his jaw.

“Even if it happens again… I still want to see her.”

Xiang Lianqiao was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

“Grandpa has some very nice girls to introduce to you. After your breakup, it wouldn’t hurt to meet them. What if you find someone you connect with? In life, there is never just one chance for romance.”

“Not meeting them.”

Xiang Lianqiao was stunned: “Don’t be stubborn, Xiang Feiran. This should have started two or three years ago. Among my old comrades, children your age are already married and settled down. You’re not a playboy; if only—”

Xiang Feiran knelt down and took his grandfather’s hands, which were resting on his cane. “Grandpa.”

He had originally intended to keep it a secret for his entire life, but today, Xiang Lianqiao showed him everything he had prepared for him, as if arranging his final affairs. He couldn’t let him leave with his mind unsettled. Yes, telling him that he was against marriage wouldn’t ease his mind, but at least it wouldn’t be left unresolved. At least he had sought the truth his whole life, dealing with lies, and when he left, he would do so with the truth.

Xiang Feiran looked into his eyes without avoidance or hesitation. “I’ve decided; I will never marry.”

Xiang Lianqiao was stunned, his throat constricting with anger, causing him to cough. “You only had a girlfriend and it didn’t work out. It’s not like you watched a movie and ruined your brain!”

“I don’t want to get married, even if that person is Shang Mingbao.”

Xiang Lianqiao’s coughing and anger were stuck in his chest, his face slowly turning red. His usually clear and wise eyes suddenly became clouded with tears. “Feiran…”

He didn’t need to explain further; Xiang Lianqiao understood immediately.

The good son he raised had ruined the life of his most cherished grandson.

“Grandpa, I don’t have a background of love education, nor do I have the genes for love. I don’t believe in lasting love; I don’t believe that someone will love me for a lifetime, nor do I believe I can love someone for a lifetime.”

When deeply in love, who doesn’t believe in eternal love, daring to compare their heart to the heavens?

But then what?

Who will teach him to see twenty or thirty years into the future?

Who will give him a script with the ending written, stating “Xiang Feiran and Shang Mingbao will love each other for a lifetime,” in black and white, engraved into his destiny?

Yes, yes, why think so much? Why hesitate? Why not, while fervently in love, make vows and set up a family, have children, and declare to the world with a reckless belief that “if it can be so now, it can certainly be so in the future”?

If necessary, they can divorce in the future.

But is a future divorce somehow more noble than a current breakup?

Who will teach him?

Is future exhaustion somehow milder than the immediate hurt?

Who will teach him?

Believing he will surely love her for a lifetime? Xiang Weishan also believed this when he loved Tang Yue.

Countless worthless men in this world, when faced with the woman before them, also believe this.

Are they braver than him? Is their love purer?

Love and belief in love are so intangible and immeasurable. To become its devout followers, in the name of hormones and pheromones.

To become its sincere supporters, with blind confidence.

Xiang Feiran is a nihilist of love, an obstinate heretic.

Moreover, he despises himself.

He despises himself and wants to give Shang Mingbao the best of everything, but this “best” does not include himself.

His body, his kisses, the world he knows, his heart—these are all the best he can give, but the person he has assembled is not.

He is not the best, so he decides not to give himself.

If he had known from the beginning that Shang Mingbao’s ideal was marriage and that her extraordinarily prominent family might support her marital freedom, he would not have started.

He would rather be a lifelong friend, watching her fall in love with someone else, observing her while she watches fireworks, hiding when she turns around.

Growing old, with a face full of wrinkles and tears streaming down. Xiang Feiran wiped away Xiang Lianqiao’s tears, calmly saying, “I originally wanted to keep it from you. If I had known you were so busy finding a match for me, I would have told you sooner.”

Xiang Lianqiao let him be, silently weeping for a long time, still wanting to persuade him. “You have good character, Feiran. You’re not a bad kid; you will be a responsible person.”

Xiang Feiran sighed with a smile, as if comforting a child. “If married life is only about responsibility, it would be meaningless.”

The night wind and dew chilled the heart, making one feel cold inside and out. Xiang Feiran pushed him back. The wheelchair left two tracks on the ground under the canopy of the acacia tree.

Fearing that Xiang Lianqiao might not sleep well, Xiang Feiran stayed by his bedside for a long time until his breathing became steady.

He should leave now, rising gently, turning off the bedside lamp, and leaving, as if he had heard a murmured dream.

“Feiran…” The once sharp and commanding diplomat’s voice had grown hoarse and weakened with age.

“Feiran…” He sighed as he called out again.

“Feiran… after I’m gone, what will you do?”

Xiang Feiran closed the door, leaned against it for a moment, and then relaxed his clenched jaw.

At this time, it was 10 AM in New York.

He and Shang Mingbao hadn’t been in contact for six days, except for the day he arrived when he informed her he was safe.

Her Instagram continued to update regularly, not more frequently but not less, with posts about her jewelry class, the autumn in Central Park, and an acorn.

She asked what kind of acorn it was, and Xiang Feiran told her it was a North American red oak, using the same dark green avatar account.

But she didn’t reply, as it was a common fallen fruit that many people knew about. Wu Baiyan said she was silly, asking if she hadn’t seen Ice Age, where the little creature was holding that acorn. His reply was more interesting, and Shang Mingbao responded to him.

Although he had done so much mental preparation and even considered whether it would be better to officially break up face-to-face in New York, his arm still went numb from the pain while typing.

He typed and deleted, deleted and retyped, and by the time he realized it, his breathing was erratic, his gasps were sharp, and his eyes were frighteningly red.

He tried to save himself, stumbling and relying entirely on his own understanding to do so. He grabbed a plastic bag to cover his mouth and nose, feeling dizzy amidst the chaotic heartbeat and thinning oxygen. He closed his burning eyes, recalling their first meeting in the car.

From the rearview mirror, she looked like a fresh, carefree young girl who called him “uncle.”

He finally finished typing the message—edited and trimmed, without any sentimentality, straightforward as always:

“I’ve thought it over.”

“You were right; this is the end.”

“All the best, Shang Mingbao.”