Chapter Seventy-Five – A Bitter Parting

One person narrates, another bears the pain, several offer words of consolation. A dinner gathering, meant to be cheerful, is instead punctuated by dashes—one after another—fragmented by explanations and tangled justifications.

“I have my own thoughts,” said Yishu suddenly, rising to her feet with a chill in her voice. “Thoughts I can’t control, thoughts I can’t change. Do what you wish. I can’t force you.”

I am only her sister, not her mother. In the twenty-first century, no one expects the eldest sister to take on the role of a mother anymore.

Yishu picked up her bag from the back of the chair, slung it over her shoulder, and, avoiding Su Yihui and Xu Shixi, walked toward the door.

Yan Lu snapped out of her daze and hurried after her.

At the door, Lu Xugao happened to be standing there, about to come in. He had cleaned up the overturned and broken dishes and was carrying them downstairs. Li Nanzhi, seeing this, asked a few anxious questions, and he gave a few casual, made-up answers. What had happened that evening was not earth-shattering, yet experiencing it firsthand left him unsettled.

He had heard from Yan Lu about Yishu’s family and sincerely admired Yishu’s character. Into this story, he had poured his own understanding and insight.

Sometimes, we believe that sacrificing our own interests for the sake of someone else’s life means they are duty-bound to accept it, that it is their obligation and responsibility—regardless of whether it meets their true needs. Conversely, when the other party tries to repay in the same manner, we feel as if they are destroying, squandering our painstaking efforts. It is seen as immature, irrational. Yet, when both parties act from the same mindset, following nearly identical paths, why must they be labeled so differently?

Yishu and Lu Xugao’s eyes met for a moment.

“Where are you all going?” Lu Xugao asked, eyes wide. “Aren’t we eating?”

“Sorry, I think I’ll go home first,” Yishu said, gesturing slightly before heading toward the stairs.

“What’s the point of eating now?” Yan Lu exclaimed. “We’re already full—on anger.”

Lu Xugao didn’t understand, and no one present was patient enough to explain it to him.

Xu Shixi remained in the private room, trying to smooth out the lingering, turbulent air. Yihui was, after all, Yishu’s younger brother; he bore a certain responsibility to mediate.

“Yihui, what are you really thinking?” Xu Shixi bent down, gazing at him kindly. “Maybe it was hard to speak plainly in front of your sister, but could you tell me?”

Yihui lifted his eyes, staring unblinkingly at Xu Shixi—his eyes like two black pearls, determined to shine despite their darkness. “What I wanted to say, what I could say, I already said it all just now.”

There was nothing left to add.

“The result is what you said,” Xu Shixi pressed on gently. “But can I know the reason?”

“The result is the reason,” Su Yihui replied gloomily. “And the reason is the result.”

Xu Shixi realized he would get no further. Su Yihui’s melancholic nature was such that no one could pry his true thoughts from under the weight of that stone.

“If there’s ever something you want to say, come find me and your sister at Fuyuan,” Xu Shixi said, pulling out a slip of paper and pen, scribbling down the address, and tucking it into Yihui’s hand. He didn’t have Yihui’s contact information, and at this awkward moment, adding each other as friends seemed strange.

Straightening up, Xu Shixi saw Lu Xugao entering and went to greet him.

“What on earth happened? Can you tell me?” Lu Xugao looked desperate for answers.

Xu Shixi managed a wry smile, patted him on the shoulder, and hurried off after Yishu.

Lu Xugao stood dazed at the door, glancing from Xu Shixi’s retreating back to Su Yihui, who sat with his head bowed in desolation. It was as if a play had been abruptly interrupted at its most thrilling climax—one actor storming off stage, the rest forced to halt the performance.

“Are you all done eating?” asked Li Nanzhi, noticing the group coming downstairs. Remembering how Lu Xugao had just brought down the broken dishes, she said, “I was just about to bring you some drinks.”

“We’re done,” Yishu replied, unable to muster a smile. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“Hey—” Li Nanzhi reached out to stop them, but just then, a boisterous group of customers entered, clamoring to order.

From a nearby office building, dozens of delivery orders had just come in, all marked for delivery by seven o’clock. The deliverymen, all on electric scooters, found themselves unable to transport such a mountain of food, even if they were willing—their vehicles simply couldn’t hold it all. What’s more, their fee depended on the number of orders, not the quantity: whether they delivered one cup of milk tea or fifty, the delivery fee was the same. And if anything was damaged en route, they would have to pay for it themselves. So, for half an hour, no one had picked up the order.

If the delivery was late and had to be refunded, the entire day’s profit for the tea restaurant would evaporate. Out of options, Cheng Shuguang borrowed an electric tricycle from the neighboring shop, loaded the orders into the back basket, opened his map, put on his headset, and set off on his first-ever delivery journey.

With Cheng Shuguang gone from the front desk, Li Nanzhi found herself stretched thin. The two chefs were busy in the kitchen, the assistant only spoke her dialect fluently, making it impossible for her to help with customers or the register. As for Su Yihui, he might as well not have been there.

As Xu Shixi passed the front counter, he offered Li Nanzhi a polite, apologetic nod. She still didn’t know what had happened upstairs.

Lu Xugao followed closely behind, and before Li Nanzhi could speak, he blurted out, “Cousin, a lot of strange things happened today. Once I figure it all out, I’ll tell you.” With that, he dashed off like a gust of wind.

Li Nanzhi smiled and shook her head. To her, Lu Xugao was still the same as he’d been in childhood—sometimes steady, sometimes capricious.

On the way home, no one spoke. The air in the car was so heavy it was suffocating.

Xu Shixi walked behind Yishu; her elongated shadow stretched over him, and in it he could sense the profound sadness she carried.

From the gate of Fuyuan to home—excluding the elevator ride to the twentieth floor—was just over three hundred meters. Yet to Xu Shixi, it felt as if he’d circled an eight-hundred-meter track ten times.

Even in the high-rise elevator, a faint swaying could be felt. Yishu’s heart, like the autumn sun after five o’clock, was falling in uneasy descent.

At the door, Yishu rummaged in her bag for her keys, but no matter how she searched, she couldn’t find them—just as she could no longer find her once-certain understanding of human nature.

Xu Shixi stilled her frantic hands, took the keys from his own pocket—a metallic charm dangling from them. “Let me,” he said. He pressed the code on the keypad, and the door opened.

The apartment was pitch black, but on the glass wall of the living room, the city lights reflected in dazzling splendor. It was barely past eight, the city’s golden hour, pulsing with life.

There was no time to take in the view. The lights came on at once, flooding every corner with brightness.

“Yishu, try not to overthink,” Xu Shixi said as he changed his shoes. “Why not sit on the sofa for a while? I don’t think you’ve eaten anything; you must be starving. I’ll make some noodles.”

Yishu set down her bag. “I’m not hungry. I couldn’t eat even if I tried.” She shook her head weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been looking after people all day and night, and now you’ve joined me in this absurd play. You must be starving and exhausted. Just make yourself something—there are still vegetables and eggs in the fridge.”

“I’ll make enough for two. You should eat some, too,” Xu Shixi insisted.

Yishu didn’t respond, turning instead toward her bedroom.

The fissures of time, the cracks of space, the wounds of the body—all require time to mend. Yishu had always forced herself to be strong. No matter the setback, given enough time, she would recover.

Xu Shixi’s phone chimed. He wiped his hands on the blue-edged apron, checked the screen: Tang Chao was calling. Glancing at the bubbling pot, he hesitated, then turned off the stove and answered.

“Shixi, come to the hospital—quick!”

On the other end, Tang Chao sounded frantic.

“My sister, she…” His words broke off, unable to continue.

“What’s wrong with Tang Dai? Has her condition worsened?” Xu Shixi asked anxiously. Whatever their acquaintance, basic concern was due.

“She…” Tang Chao faltered again.

From his second hesitation, Xu Shixi realized he was trying to fabricate a lie, but couldn’t bring himself to say it. Tang Chao’s greatest flaw was his inability to lie—he always said exactly what he thought. Deceit, fabrication, twisting the truth—these were foreign to him. It was a quality Xu Shixi most appreciated.

“I’m tied up today. Please look after your sister for me. I’ll visit her when I can,” Xu Shixi said, deliberately vague about the timing. He knew Yishu was the one who truly needed his attention now; Tang Dai had her own place, her own person. This tangled web would leave more than just the three of them wounded.

“So you really won’t come?” Tang Chao pressed.

“I really won’t,” Xu Shixi replied, his tone solemn.

With so many voices now silenced, the conversation carried clearly to Yishu’s ears.

In that moment, happiness seemed suddenly within reach.