After a while, Jiaqi didn't know when it started, but Ruan Zhengdong stopped taking her to play cards. It was always just the two of them at meals. He even occasionally drove to the office to wait for her. Jiaqi gradually felt uneasy and finally suggested, "Let's not see each other anymore."
Ruan Zhengdong was stunned for a moment, then said, "Okay." After a pause, he added, "Then I'll give you a gift today." He drove her to a jewelry store, where the women presented each glittering item for her to examine. She wasn't vain, and she loved the sight of large diamonds wrapped in black velvet, gleaming like teardrops, a feast for the eyes no matter how you looked at them. But for some reason, after much searching, she finally settled on a very cheap, thin platinum chain. She was used to not being greedy, because if something was too good, she couldn't keep it.
Back in the car, Ruan Zhengdong said nothing. He drove very fast, an old song playing on the CD—"Scarborough Fair." He accidentally ran a red light, and a flash of white light gave her an inexplicable fear. Sure enough, Ruan Zhengdong stepped on the brake, turned her face toward him, and kissed her fiercely.
He held her tightly with such great strength, as if he wanted to devour her. He was never like this. For so long, he hardly even touched her hand. The female companions around him changed again and again like a revolving lantern, and he didn't hide it from her. He placed her neither far nor close, like a vase, or more like a new dress. He had too many new clothes, so he didn't care much for them. Anyway, she hung there and he forgot to take her out for a long time. Once, he was drunk and called her in the middle of the night. He talked to her in a disjointed manner. Later, she could vaguely hear a woman's delicate voice from the other end: "Zhengdong, are you going to take a shower?" He said, "I'm coming." He hung up the phone with a click, leaving her in tears.
She tried her best to break free, but finally cried in anxiety. Ruan Zhengdong finally released her, looking at her bewilderedly. The cars behind him honked their horns impatiently. Amidst the deafening din, he muttered, "Why is it you?"
She didn't understand the incoherent words, tears still welling in her eyes, ready to fall.
He refused to let her out of the car to take a taxi, but in the end, he insisted on taking her back to the apartment building.
He didn't appear in front of Jiaqi for a long time.
Zhou Jing'an was deeply disappointed with this outcome and criticized her harshly. "You Jiaqi, you pighead! You can't even hold on to a rich man."
Jiaqi nodded. "Next time, for sure, next time."
Jiaqi's life quickly returned to normal, with the only exception being the box of matches. At dusk, she would occasionally sit at the table, take out a match, and light it, watching it burn down to ash. She hadn't seen these special matches in many years, not since her breakup with Meng Heping. Thin and long, they burned for a long time, but there weren't many in a box, so she treasured them. More often than not, she would just hold the box up and gently shake it next to her ear—the rustling sound like heavy rain. Hearing that sound brought her joy.
Work was still tedious and stressful. She and her boss had been following a major client for nearly two weeks without any results, their patience almost exhausted. Then, one day, upon exiting the reception room, they ran into someone who looked very familiar, and Jiaqi was slightly startled.
It was Ruan Zhengdong's friend, with whom they had always played cards at first—the one she'd mentioned as "unprecedented." Jiaqi seemed to remember his last name was Rong. Sure enough, her boss was beaming. "Ah, President Rong, nice to meet you." He introduced Jiaqi, and the other person recognized her. It turned out that the company belonged to him. Upon learning their purpose, he turned and gave his secretary a few words, and suddenly things became clear. Her boss was overjoyed and whispered, "Excellent! You've known Master Rong for so long, yet you haven't said a word. You're so patient!" Immediately, he asked her to stay and discuss the details.
After finishing their business, Master Rong asked, "Why didn't I see you go to the hospital to see Zhengdong?"
Jiaqi was startled. Before she could say anything, Master Rong sighed. "Go see him."
Jiaqi hesitated for two whole days before heading to the hospital.
Unexpectedly, the hospital was bustling with activity, half the hallway covered in flowers. When the nurse heard her ask which ward Ruan Zhengdong was in, her eyes flickered. "1708, the fourth one on the left."
The door was ajar. The ward was a suite, beautifully decorated like a hotel, strewn with flowers and fruit. The carpet was soft and silent. Someone inside chuckled, a sweet, sweet sound. She remained silent for a few seconds, thinking of knocking, but she turned and walked away.
The corridor was silent and empty, echoing only with the sound of her own footsteps. This was the private ward, where Jiaqi had been once before, accompanying Meng Heping. Later, Meng Heping's mother asked for a hazelnut cake, so Meng Heping went downstairs to buy some. Then, Meng Heping's mother said to her slowly, "You're not worthy of Heping, so please stop burdening him."
How flustered and embarrassed she had been then.
She vaguely imagined a figure appearing down the hallway, tall and familiar, its features clearly the one she'd missed day and night. She thought, half-consciously, how real the daydream had become.
As the figure gradually approached, she tilted her head slightly upward, gazing at him with almost greedy eyes. Even every brow was clear and real—like an image imprinted in her heart. He had changed so much, yet at the same time, he seemed unchanged. He was Meng Heping, the Meng Heping she'd always remembered. Suddenly, she nearly jumped in shock.
Meng Heping!
He stood there, staring at her as if she were an alien. She was stunned, and so was he.
The corridors were filled with the fragrance of flowers: roses and lilies, forget-me-nots and jasmine orchids, love flowers and calla lilies—huge bouquets and baskets of beautifully wrapped flowers. And they stood in the center of this river of flowers, staring at each other like fools.
Jiaqi's hands and feet suddenly went cold.
It was Meng Heping. It really was Meng Heping. She had actually met Meng Heping, in her lifetime.
A narrow encounter.
In the first few years after their breakup, she had imagined a reunion with Meng Heping, from the scenes to the lines, over and over again. Perhaps it would be ten years, perhaps eighteen, like that novel by Eileen Chang—so desolate and beautiful, and, to put it bluntly, we can never go back. Or perhaps it would only be three or five years before they met again, amidst the singing and dancing, the elegant ladies, the heartbreaking beauty of a Korean drama. Later, she gradually grew disheartened, realizing the unreachable nature of fate.
But she actually saw him again—and it turned out to be much easier than she'd imagined. Her voice was surprisingly fluent and clear, without a tremor or stutter. "Meng Heping, is that you?"
She had always loved calling him by his full name. Meng Heping, Meng Heping, Meng Heping... In that most heartbreaking moment, tears streamed down her face, and she strained every ounce of her strength to keep from uttering a single sound: "Meng Heping! Meng Heping..." As if, if she could only cry out like that in her heart, he would return to her.
He paused for a moment before saying, "It's me." Then he asked, "Jiaqi, where have you been all these years?"
She uttered an "oh," and said, "I've always been here." She succinctly recounted her career journey. He raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't your major Spanish? Why are you working in advertising now?"
How difficult it is to find a job in a minor language... especially for a third-rate student like her, graduating from a second-rate major at a first-rate university. She was clueless and would never qualify as a translator.
What's more, his master's degree was in microelectronics, but now he had become an unscrupulous real estate developer.
It was disheartening. This reunion with an old love should have been heart-wrenching, but instead, all they talked about was such vapid, meaningless details. She couldn't recall a single important word—so many words that had been her last support during the most agonizing days of her life. Even when things were difficult and painful, she endured them, wishing only that she could see Meng Heping again, if only she could see him again. But she knew she wouldn't, that fate wouldn't give her such a chance. Even if a miracle had finally happened today, she had forgotten it all—because he had already forgotten, calmly and easily.
He looked her in the eye and smiled.
And yet, until this moment, she still couldn't meet his eyes.
For a long time, she had hidden in her bed in the dark, crying, her only remaining hope that she would see him again before she died. Then, she would burst into tears and tell him all her pain, bit by bit. Only now did she realize how naive that was. Even if she saw him again, he would no longer be her Meng Heping.
Everything from the past had turned to ash, blown away by the wind in time, not a single scrap left.
He remembered. "What are you doing here?"
She said, "I'm visiting a friend."
He suddenly raised his eyebrows. "You're visiting Dongzi?"
It turned out that the entire ward on the seventeenth floor only had one patient—Ruan Zhengdong.
It was so funny that Meng Heping, like her, was here to see Ruan Zhengdong.
She had actually heard him mention Dongzi before, and even heard him explain how Dongzi's grandfather had given him that nickname because of Pan Dongzi in "The Red Star." It was said that the two had been inseparable since childhood, loving each other like brothers. Later, Dongzi had spent two more years abroad, and there was a temporary gap in their revolutionary friendship.
And she was there to fill that void.
She had always been slow-witted. Meng Heping had always called her a silly girl, so affectionately, but now, when she thought about it, she felt a pang of emptiness in her heart.
She was silly, truly silly.
Xianglin Sao's words were finally being applied here.
She should have known, when she saw the box of matches, that these specially made, specially supplied matches wouldn't be sold outside.
Meng Heping's phone rang. He checked the number but didn't answer. She wondered if it was his girlfriend, or his wife. She tried to recall the magazine articles, but they were standard financial publications, and there wasn't a single mention of gossip, not even whether he was married. She suddenly felt ashamed. Whether he had a wife or not was none of her business. As the saying goes, "From now on, Xiao Lang is just a stranger."
"Heping!" Ruan Zhengdong suddenly appeared. "I was wondering why you didn't answer the phone. Turns out you're already here."
Meng Heping looked him up and down. "You look so good. Why are you still in the hospital? You might as well go home and recuperate."
Ruan Zhengdong smiled, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I'd like to, but the doctor won't let me." It was rare for someone to look so polished in a robe, standing in the hospital hallway as if he were in his own bedroom. But perhaps it was because of her former lover, she thought Meng Heping was more handsome, well-dressed, and with an air of dignity. The two men were so caught up in reminiscing that they ignored her. She felt uneasy. If only she could take this opportunity to escape.
Before she could even take a step, someone suddenly poked their head out of the ward. "Brother, is Heping here?"
The voice was sweet and charming, the same voice she had just heard. Surprisingly, the face was even sweeter and looked very familiar. Like Ruan Zhengdong, she had bright eyes, and upon seeing Meng Heping, a twinkle flashed in her eyes, a mixture of anger and coquettishness. "Didn't I tell you to pick me up at seven o'clock? Why are you here so early?" Turning and seeing her, she remained silent, only smiling at her.
Ruan Zhengdong seemed to have finally noticed her. "Jiaqi, you're here?" He introduced her. "This is my sister, Ruan Jiangxi. This is my friend, Meng Heping." Then, vaguely pointing at the pair, he said, "This is You Jiaqi."
In her twenty-plus years, You Jiaqi's life had never been so lively.
Old acquaintances and new acquaintances had all appeared, and there was even a rival in the mix—but she had no idea who was whose rival.
Everyone went to the ward for tea, and Ruan Jiangxi, incredibly curious about her, poured her tea himself. Being able to drink such a sweet and fragrant Eight Treasure Tea in the hospital was truly unexpected. Ruan Jiangxi said, "This tea is pretty good, isn't it? I called Lao Sanyuan to send it over." She kept silent, so as not to seem surprised. Lao Sanyuan Tea House was notorious for its small size and limited seating. It was said that even celebrities had to make reservations to get tea, so they actually delivered it to the hospital. This was truly a gesture of respect.
Ruan Zhengdong couldn't drink tea, so he brought a glass of plain water. He had drunk too much and had been rushed to the hospital with a sudden stomach bleed. Ruan Jiangxi described the scene of his collapse vividly, her voice punctuated by shock and cadence when she spoke of the key points. Even Jiaqi, who had nothing to do with the matter, listened with bated breath. Ruan Zhengdong laughed. "Don't listen to Xizi's horrific stories. She's a journalist, and it's her fault."
Jiaqi then remembered why she looked familiar. She was a news commentary anchor, much younger than she appeared on camera. Perhaps her sharp critiques of current events on the air gave her a vivid impression. In real life, she was just a charming young woman, more articulate than most.
She and Meng Heping were a perfect match.
Childhood sweethearts, handsome and beautiful, each with a successful career—anyone who heard them would agree that they were a perfect match.
Her phone rang, and she took the opportunity to step away to answer it. It was Zhou Jing'an who called. She was very excited. "Come on, come on, New World is having a sale. There's a skirt that really suits you."
She raised her voice a little and answered, "Ah? The boss wants me to work overtime for something important? I'll go back right away."
Zhou Jing'an was puzzled. "Hey, you stupid guy, what are you talking about?"
She replied, "You deal with him first. I will rush back to the company in half an hour."
Zhou Jing'an was still yelling, but she had already hung up the phone. She walked back and told Ruan Zhengdong apologetically, "I'm so sorry, I have to go back."
Meng Heping said, "I'll take you there."
She couldn't help but blurt out, "No, you still want to take Miss Ruan there. I'll take a taxi."
Ruan Zhengdong said, "Wait a minute, I'll change and take you there."
Before she could reply, Meng Heping said, "Alright, you're still in the hospital. I'll take her there. I'll come pick up Xizi later."
Ruan Zhengdong didn't insist. "Thank you then."
Meng Heping laughed. "That's really different. I used to take you here and there for you, and you never even said thank you."
Ruan Zhengdong laughed too. "When did I ever ask you to take anyone there? Stop talking nonsense."
Jiaqi felt a dull pain in her chest, her internal organs twitching, as if a deep hole had been eaten into her stomach. She was afraid her throat would feel sweet and she would spit blood. She felt like a mosquito caught in a spider web—no matter how hard she struggled, more constraints wrapped around her, tangling up, suffocating her breath, unable to exert any strength. She could only watch helplessly, unable to move, and die with her eyes wide open.
She and Meng Heping took the elevator down, only the two of them in the tiny space, feeling like a cage. She really didn't want to ride with him anymore, so she said, "I'd better take a taxi. There are plenty of taxis near the hospital, so it's very convenient."
"No," he insisted calmly, adding, "I promised Dongzi."
With such affection and loyalty, why did she still want to cry?
He drove a Chopster, the interior spacious, the air conditioning hissing silently, but only she felt cramped.
He drove slowly, as if out of habit. After not seeing him for so long, he really seemed like a different person, like "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" in her childhood memories. She always remembered it as so beautiful, so wonderful, but she didn't dare to look it up, afraid that if she did, it would seem different—the memories she once had, she was afraid would never be the same.
On a Saturday afternoon, traffic flowed slowly on the street, and green taxis floated like leaves on a winding river. She felt like she was on a boat, watching thousands of sails pass by on both sides, and the buildings rise up.
The light was red, and they stopped and waited. She turned to look out the window and suddenly recognized the intersection.
If she turned left and walked another five or six hundred meters, she'd see rows of old-style residential buildings, one after another, like countless identical matchboxes, their rough concrete walls and densely packed doorways and windows more like a beehive. She recalled the days of sitting in a rattan chair on the narrow balcony, basking in the sun, her T-shirt and his shirt hanging overhead, their lapels or sleeves often brushing against their heads... Beyond the balcony, the clamor of cars, voices, horns, and music from small shops promoting sales—a vast ocean of sound, crashing against the shore just below. Pale golden sunlight filtered down silently like an hourglass in a bottle. On the neighboring balcony, sliced lettuce was drying in a large sieve—years later, she stubbornly remembered it, remembering the scent of happiness that came from drying lettuce—the unique aroma of dried goods mixed with the choking dust... The balcony was small and narrow, only wide enough for one chair. He kept arguing with her, and in the end, they were squeezed together, not feeling bored. She even grabbed him and asked, "Meng Heping, why are you named that?"
He said, "My dad wanted world peace."
Later, she learned that when he was born, his father was on the battlefield, so he was named Heping.
Finally, they arrived at the office building. She said, "Don't get out of the car." He said, "It's okay." He still got out and opened the door for her, holding the roof with his hand, a polite and gentlemanly gesture.
It turned out that he was so lazy, only she knew. He took off his socks and threw them there, only threatening her with physical force to get him to wash them. He even sang in the cramped bathroom: "Ahh... give me a good wife, someone who doesn't have to wash my socks. Even if I have to hand over my salary, even if you pull my ears, I won't regret it..." His off-key rendition of "Love Water" made her laugh so hard she leaned forward and backward. She reached out to pull his ears, but his hands were covered in laundry detergent suds. He tilted his head and kissed her tenderly, letting his suds dangle.
She said, "I'm going upstairs."
He nodded. She walked deeper into the hallway before looking back. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, she could see him still there, standing in the blazing sun, leaning against the car, his head lowered, holding a cigarette in his mouth. He struck a match, one, two... until it finally caught fire and he looked up.
She turned quickly and hurried on, afraid that if she waited another second, she would burst into tears.
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