I hung up the phone, my hand shaking as I searched for the ticket company’s number. I booked the earliest flight at ten o’clock the next morning and didn’t sleep all night, packing all the important items.
As I passed Ye Zhengchen’s door, I remembered I still owed him an answer. I set my suitcase down and pressed his doorbell. The door opened to reveal Yu Yin in a bright red nightgown.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a faint smile.
At four in the morning, dawn was breaking, and a fog settled in the distance, making everything hazy. I took the first airport shuttle bus. I never wanted to return to this country, city, or apartment.
While changing my boarding pass, the service staff reminded me, “You haven’t completed re-entry procedures. You’ll need to apply for a visa again to enter.”
“I understand, it’s fine.”
With two hours left before boarding, I sat down to call Lingling, Qin Xue, Brother Feng, and finally, I dialed Ye Zhengchen. The phone rang once, and I regretted it, but he answered.
“Kiddo?” His voice was low.
I took a breath and said, “Treat Yu Yin well.”
Regardless of whether you loved her or not, you should take responsibility.
“I’m leaving…” I said in Japanese: “Sayonara!” This word means “goodbye,” and Japanese people say it only when they are certain two people will never meet again.
Without waiting for him to ask, I hung up the phone. I heard him say, “Wait for me…”
Of course, I wouldn’t wait for him.
When boarding time arrived, I walked to the gate. As the staff checked my passport, he came, pushing through the crowd in white, a patch of bright red blood seeping through his shirt.
He was calling my name, not “kiddo.” “Bao Bing, Bao Bing…” Hearing him call my full name, I realized it carried a deep, cold meaning.
I took my passport and walked into the boarding gate. He tried to follow but was stopped by staff.
“Bao Bing!” He called anxiously. “Wait, I have something to tell you! It’s important!”
The luggage in my hand felt like a thousand-pound stone.
“Kiddo, I love you!” Tears flowed down my face.
“Give me three minutes; I’ll tell you the truth… three minutes, just three minutes.”
This was his final request, and I didn’t give it to him.
I whispered softly to myself: “Senior brother, I’m leaving. Believe me, there won’t be a more painful hurt than this…”
Later, I often wondered what he would have told me if I’d given him three more minutes.
He was a bit dazed and finally said, “Besides you, there will be no one else.” I believed him without doubt. Yin Zhongtian would never speak nonsense; he considered his words carefully and never expressed uncertainty.
My parents often praised Yin Zhongtian for being steady, meticulous, proper in speech and behavior, and sincere with people. I agreed most with one point: he was a trustworthy man.
I leaned back in my chair, waiting for him to start the car and merge onto the main road. Familiar streets passed by, and I smiled faintly, thinking of the patient who had been transferred out that day. When leaving, her husband helped her change clothes and supported her out. She smiled and said to me, “Goodbye.” Some goodbyes are final.
Since Yin Zhongtian had already done the preliminary investigation, we quickly decided on the overall kitchen cabinets and glass sliding doors. With time to spare, we went to look at curtains.
The styles were dazzling: Korean cozy versions, European luxurious versions, and simple vintage versions. “Which one do you like?” he asked.
I examined every style and pointed to one. “Except for this green one, all are good.”
“How about this gray one?” he asked, pointing to a light gray curtain. It was elegant and calm, aligning with Yin Zhongtian’s style.
My gaze shifted back to the left. The light green sheer fabric gently fell to the ground with dark green tassels swaying. A gust of air made the fabric wave—so beautiful!
“Xiao Bing?”
“Ah?” I came back to myself. “Okay! Quite good.”
“Let’s choose this one then.”
I asked the saleswoman about the green curtain. “Are there other colors available?”
“What color would you like?” she replied.
“Anything but green…”
She showed me the samples. “There are purple, blue, and this pale pink.”
The samples were common in color and style, lacking any stunning effect.
“Thank you!” I returned the samples. “Let’s go with the gray one on the right.”
Before leaving, I looked once more at the light green curtain—uniquely beautiful.
After lunch, Yin Zhongtian received a call from his friend who owns a wedding dress shop. They had just received a new batch of wedding dresses and invited us to come appreciate them. Although the wedding date wasn’t set, the shop owner insisted we come, offering a 30% discount due to the off-season.
We agreed and arrived at the shop. “Feel free to choose, everything is 30% off,” the owner said. He added jokingly, “Even if you don’t marry Zhongtian, you’ll wear it eventually.” Yin Zhongtian lightly punched him. It was rare for him to be playful with others, indicating a good relationship with the owner.
In another scene, a patient took his last breaths, whispering his daughter’s name. His wife collapsed, asking helplessly, “What will I do now? How will I go on?”
I’ve heard this question countless times, and the answer is always the same: “For your parents, for your children, you must keep living.”
Difficult as it may be, compared to those who have died, we are at least still alive!
I walked out of the ward, weary, and overheard two young nurses gossiping: “Which handsome guy? I haven’t seen him.”
“The one standing in the hallway is so handsome, much cooler than Secretary Yin…” The other nurse’s face was radiant. “Those eyes…”
I didn’t know what to say. After too many life and death partings, they had become numb. Perhaps I would too someday, so I refrained from blaming them.
“Really? I was busy inside,” the nurse said, her voice tinged with grievance.
Another nurse, who had just returned with medication, immediately joined in. “Are you talking about the man outside Ward 7? He’s so stylish. Is he the patient’s colleague?”
“No, he came to…”
Seeing my cold anger, she quickly fell silent: “Dr. Bao.”
“Mm.” I nodded, trying to keep my tone calm. “Haven’t you finished your shift yet?”
“Soon.”
Exhausted with a heavy head, I handed over my shift and walked out of the hospital doors.
My chest felt suffocated; I wanted to cry but couldn’t. For three years, since leaving Kansai Airport, I could no longer cry.
“I’m very sorry,” the manager said apologetically. “It’s not that we don’t want to repair it. We’ve only made one of these watches, and we really don’t have any spare parts…”
“I understand,” I pressed again, “What if I’m willing to pay?”
“This movement is Jaeger’s most precise model and extremely expensive.”
If this watch means a lot to you, perhaps it’s better to keep it as a memento…”
I smiled bitterly. Why was he always leaving me things that weren’t what they seemed? Even this watch was a Jaeger disguised in a seagull’s shell – truly ridiculous.
After leaving the mall, I walked to the trash can and took a final look at the now-broken watch.
I told myself: I can do this. Life without him will still be good – getting married, having children. I tossed the watch into the trash, and after a heavy thud, the watch I hadn’t taken off for three years was finally gone.
He had said: “There are many girls named ‘Ice’ in this world, but my ‘little girl’ is one of a kind! Unique!”
Now, this unique watch, this unique “little girl,” no longer existed.
Between us, there would be no further connection.
My vision blurred, and I couldn’t see anything. I steadied myself against a nearby white car. After regaining my balance, I realized it was the white SUV from yesterday.
