Chapter 3: The Curve That Broke

                                     

If life can be expressed in a curve chart, most people’s life curve will be like a wavy line, which may rise and fall, but remains smooth and continuous.

Whenever Chen Ziyou thought of this sentence from the old nanny at home, her own life curve would appear in her mind.

Before she was seventeen, it should have been the most beautiful curve.

At that time, she owned almost the whole world.

She had a good family background, a beautiful and slender face and figure, loving parents and family, a close confidant, and a childhood sweetheart’s first love.

Not only that, she was smart and studious, with excellent grades and versatility.

At that time, the old nanny at home said that when God gave Miss Ziyou life, He must have been in a happy mood and with good intentions.

When she was seventeen years old, perhaps the cartographic machine assigned to her by heaven broke down, so her curve became a skipping needle and broke, and then it turned into a straight line, like the electrocardiogram of a heart patient who had stopped breathing.

The beginning of that year may have been a harbinger.

On Chinese New Year’s Eve, she accidentally broke her beloved glass bottle, which her father had taken her to a handicraft workshop thousands of miles away to complete with her own hands. A few hours later, her old nanny, who loved her like family, went out to buy some food, suffered a heart attack on the road, and never woke up again.

Chen Ziyou regarded this incident as an unfortunate coincidence in her grief, but she never thought that this was just the beginning.

That year, she took the college entrance examination and was pinned on high hopes by her family.

Academics were very stressful, and she suffered nervous breakdowns and depression. Because in the months she was preparing for the exam, she experienced death again: her grandmother passed away, her grandfather was seriously ill, her father suffered a car accident, and the family was thrown into chaos, as if something big was about to happen.

A few years later, when she participated in a domino challenge with her classmates across the ocean, she couldn’t help but think back to the summer of her seventeenth year.

Under her deliberate forgetting, her memory was no longer complete, like a photo torn to pieces, fluttering and scattered, but the content on each piece could remind her of many things.

When the dominoes they had spent hours laying fell one by one, she remembered that she had accidentally knocked over a card and messed up her unplanned life.

After the college entrance examination that year, her father arranged for her to go abroad to relax.

She really shouldn’t have come back early to surprise her family.

If she hadn’t sneaked back in advance, she wouldn’t have discovered her parents’ private affairs.

She could have pretended not to know anything and used time to erase this memory, but she was abnormally hysterical and claimed that she would never forgive her parents again, so she learned the mystery of her life experience.

It turned out that she was not her father’s biological daughter. And her loving parents in her eyes, their union was just a mutually beneficial transaction, and they even hid it from her grandfather and grandmother.

If it weren’t for such a blow, she wouldn’t have forgotten her upbringing, crawling out of the window in the middle of the night to find her boyfriend she hadn’t seen for a long time, and then she discovered an even more unbearable fact: the boyfriend who claimed to have loved her for 10,000 years had betrayed her with her best friend.

If it weren’t for the fact that these things happened so intensively and made her feel completely abandoned by the world, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet Jiang Licheng, at least not so early.

She thought she had met an archangel. He was enveloped in a layer of brilliance, and extended a friendly hand to her, and she held on to him with trust in her dying.

When Chen Ziyou could already recall this series of events calmly, she suddenly found that these things that made her feel like she was in purgatory at that time were actually not a big deal, and maybe everyone would encounter three or five incidents in their lives.

Moreover, they were set one by one like matryoshka dolls, and when she recalled them later, she felt that they had a very dark, humorous, comedic effect.

She remembered a comic strip she had seen when she was a child: an unlucky ghost, stumbling all the way to escape, the narrower the escape route, the narrower the escape path, until finally she was forced off a cliff—pursuers above, wolves below.

Later, she spent a lot of time looking for this small picture book as a souvenir, but she never found it again, which made her regretful.

But at the age of seventeen, she had lived fancy years and a smooth life, and she had never encountered any setbacks before.

She was devastated by this series of events, and she had the crazy idea of destroying the world and destroying herself at the same time.

She went to nightclubs to drink and dance, venting her excess brain and physical strength, but until she had no strength to think or walk, she still felt boundless despair.

She didn’t want to go home, so she left a note before she left home saying that she wanted to stay quiet by herself for a few days and asked them not to look for her.

At that time, she wanted to go to her boyfriend for comfort, but she didn’t expect that this destination also closed the door to her.

Fortunately, the money she brought was enough for her to stay in the hotel for a few days.

Chen Ziyou had been a good student and a good child for too long, so long that she didn’t know the sinister world, even though she thought she had experienced enough in the shortest possible time.

As soon as she left the door of the nightclub, she was already targeted by a few small ruffians who forced her into a corner.

They wanted more than just money, but her.

In the gap between Chen Ziyou’s struggles, her thoughts drifted far away. She thought that the novels she had read were not all fabricated, and to make matters worse, ignorant girls usually encountered even more pitiful and sad things when they were pitiful and sad.

Under the dual effects of alcohol anesthesia and physical exhaustion, her resistance was no more effective than that of an ant.

Pedestrians passed by that alley from time to time, but they didn’t even look at them again.

Perhaps God finally took pity on her. Just when she was already desperate, the two hooligans holding her down relaxed slightly, and she caught a glimpse of a slender figure in a white shirt in the corner of her eye in panic.

She didn’t even think about it. She just instinctively used all her strength to break free from the two people, and those two couldn’t stop her.

She stumbled towards the white shadow, which flashed for a moment, and before she fell, she hugged his leg and then lost consciousness.

When Chen Ziyou woke up, it was already bright outside, and she couldn’t open her eyes.

She gradually recalled what happened last night in a splitting headache, and suddenly she was so nervous that her hair stood on end. She touched her clothes in a panic, and found that she was still wearing them neatly, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

She slowly sat up and checked herself.

She hadn’t even taken off her shoes. Her clothes were stained with dirt, her jeans had a hole, and there were a few abrasions on her elbows.

She was placed on a snow-white cotton sheet like this, and covered with a quilt. The sheets were already stained with mud and a little blood.

Chen Ziyou stood up and looked around. This room was very small, except for a single bed and a chair in the corner. There was no other furniture, but it was very tidy, almost all white at a glance.

The room was so quiet that there was not even the sound of a pendulum, let alone a mirror.

She walked out cautiously. The outer room was not big, with little furniture—only a sofa by the window and a row of bookshelves against the wall.

Someone was half-lying on the sofa, leaning on the armrest, with half a sheet rolled up on his body. He had slept here nine out of ten last night.

A wisp of smoke drifted over, and Chen Ziyou suppressed the urge to cough, but her breathing still alarmed the man.

He turned to look at her, but he was backlit, and she couldn’t see his appearance at all, only the black outline in the sunlight, inlaid with gold edges.

The man didn’t speak, as if looking at her quietly.

Chen Ziyou swallowed a mouthful of saliva. She knew her image at this time could not be dignified, but she said to him in as dignified a tone as possible: “Thank you for saving me.”

The man was silent for a while, as if he was laughing. 

The man’s voice was textured and pleasant, even in the heat of summer carrying a refreshing coolness.

He said, “How do you know that I’m not with them?”

Chen Ziyou smiled faintly.

Perhaps he had wanted to see her frightened expression. Since she did not give him that satisfaction, he lost interest in continuing the ridicule. He stood, did not approach her, but went to pour himself a glass of water. With his back to her, he said calmly, “If you’ve woken up, go home early.”

When he had faced her just now, the backlight had obscured his features. Now, as he turned slightly, she could see him more clearly.

The man was tall, his shoulders and back straight. He wore a white shirt and dark blue trousers, and when his face turned to the side, his chin and profile were resolute and distinct.

Chen Ziyou whispered, “Can I wash my face?”

The man did not speak or turn around. He simply lifted a finger and pointed in a certain direction.

She understood, nodded, and quickly found the bathroom.

The bathroom was spotless, all white, as though no one had lived there for a long time. Even the toiletries were new: a single set of toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, and a pure white towel.

Because there were no personal utensils for her, she simply washed her hands and face, cleaned the abrasions on her arms, rinsed her mouth with water cupped in her palms, and finally hesitated before wiping her face with his towel. She straightened her hair in front of the small mirror on the wall with water.

Compared to what had happened yesterday, she did not look too embarrassed now. But in the mirror she noticed that all three buttons on the front of her neckline had fallen off. She pressed her collar closed with her fingers before stepping out.

At last she saw her savior’s face. A slender figure, sword-like eyebrows, straight nose, thin lips, angular features, and an indifferent expression. He looked more like a college student, yet his temperament was closer to that of a white-collar worker.

Chen Ziyou felt embarrassed at the thought of spending a night under the roof of such a young stranger. She lowered her head, pursed her dry lips, and clutched her neckline tighter. She said again, softly, “Thank you.”

The man turned, entered the bedroom without a word, and after a while came back out. He tossed something toward her. Chen Ziyou caught it, and found it was another white shirt. Then she heard him say, “If you want to drink water, pour it yourself.”

She returned to the bedroom and hurriedly changed into his shirt. The soft cotton fabric was far too large for her, so she tied the hem in a knot.

Although his attitude was cold, his heart was good. Chen Ziyou, who had never suffered cold treatment since childhood, explained it to herself this way.

When she pushed open the door and stepped outside, she was surprised to find that the house was an old-fashioned bungalow. Though small, it had a courtyard with a stone table and several stone benches. Such houses were rare nowadays.

The young man sat quietly on a stone bench, reading a magazine. On the stone table lay the bag she thought she had lost.

The man said, “Check what’s missing.”

Chen Ziyou subconsciously touched her neck, then shook her head and respectfully took the bag.

She had lost the necklace her grandfather had given her, but she did not want to mention such a private matter.

She said, “How should I thank you?”

“No need.” His tone was indifferent.

“My name is Chen Ziyou. What do you call yourself?”

“My surname is Jiang.” His voice was lighter, clearly not intending to build any deep friendship.

“How can I return your clothes?”

“No need.”

She was embarrassed for a long time, and finally found a new topic: “I’m sorry, I stained your sheets.”

“You mean, you’re going to wash the sheets for me?” the man said calmly.

No matter how late Chen Ziyou was, she could still hear the ridicule in his words. She was not an active person, and she had been pampered since childhood, so she had been rejected again and again.

She blushed, said no more, bowed to him, and hurried away.

This was probably the oldest urban area in the legendary city, with black tiles and white walls, old-style wooden doors, and narrow alleys she had never visited before.

She looked back at the house number, then trotted out of the alley, running for a long time before stopping a taxi.

There was truly nothing missing in the bag. She first went to a boutique to change into new clothes—jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that covered the abrasions on her arms—then carefully wrapped his shirt and held it in her arms.

Her family was in chaos because she hadn’t returned all night. When they saw her come back silently and safely, they didn’t dare ask anything more.

Chen Ziyou didn’t eat, went back to her room, and slept for a full day and night.

At too youthful an age, many things cannot be figured out. She still felt abandoned by the whole world, and the next day felt heavier than the first.

She ate very little, ignored everyone, unplugged the phone in her bedroom, didn’t turn on her mobile, didn’t go out for days, and didn’t even wash her face. But she didn’t cry or make trouble—she was simply silent. No one dared to persuade her.

Finally, one day, she felt she was about to grow mold. She took a two-hour bath, cleaned herself up, changed into a brand-new dress, and walked back into the sun.

To get rid of the protector who followed her, she changed buses several times, almost turning herself around.

She had grown so big, yet she had never truly sat on a bus.

She followed the bus aimlessly through the city until motion sickness forced her to get off.

By coincidence, after turning left and right into a narrow old road, she suddenly realized this was the street where she had been drunk and in danger that night.

But now it was daytime, and the place was quiet and peaceful.

She felt thirsty, entered a café, and was surprised to find the light soft, with many students reading or writing.

She remembered there were two universities nearby. Though it was summer vacation, many students hadn’t gone home and liked to study in cafés.

She didn’t want to go home either, so she went to the bookstore next door, bought a thin romance novel, found a single table, ordered black tea, and finished the book there.

When she was about to pay at the counter, she suddenly caught a glimpse of a familiar figure outside the door. She chased after him without even waiting for her change.

It must be her savior.

She didn’t remember his face clearly—she hadn’t had the chance to—but she remembered his figure, his temperament, the dark trousers and short-sleeved white shirt.

This was already an era where her male classmates wore crumpled graffiti T-shirts, oversized pants, and shaved their hair strangely. She hadn’t seen a boy like him in a long time—like a breeze in early autumn, cool yet refreshing.

The man was more than ten meters ahead, walking steadily. She could catch up with a few quick steps.

But she remembered his cold expression that morning, paused timidly, and hesitated. If she caught up, what should she say first?

She lowered her head, hesitated, then looked up again—he was gone.

In the following days, Chen Ziyou went to that street daily, like a ghost. She bought a novel she could finish in two hours, sat in the café by the window, ordered tea, and looked outside from time to time.

The road was quiet, the scenery unchanged.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, or perhaps she didn’t want to admit it.

Sometimes the student at the next desk noticed her strange behavior. Each time he finished a question, he would look out with her, then glance at her face, and finally smile.

She never saw the man again. But she found that hiding in the café each afternoon calmed her mind. She even began to look forward to it. She no longer felt like the hopeless girl at the bottom of hell. Her manic, sleepless thoughts disappeared unexpectedly.

One day she arrived later than usual and found someone already sitting at her usual window seat. She looked around for another place—and unexpectedly saw someone she both dreaded and longed to meet.

The young man who had saved her was sitting in the most hidden corner, lips pursed, eyes lowered, reading intently.

He was dressed plainly, his expression indifferent, restrained, and calm. He blended with the quiet atmosphere, yet his presence was undeniable.

Chen Ziyou chose a distant corner where she could still see him when she looked up.

She kept her head down, not daring to observe him directly. For half an hour she barely read a few pages, though the book was just a melodramatic romance.

Perhaps he had been here these past days, and she had only looked out the window instead of inside. But she thought it unlikely—his aura was too strong to go unnoticed.

She thought endlessly, touched her empty teacup, and when she looked up to order another, she saw him looking in her direction.

From a distance, she couldn’t see his expression.

She turned her head—no one else was nearby. He was looking at her. She smiled politely, shyly.

But he lowered his head again, continuing to read. Perhaps he hadn’t recognized her.

She remembered how disheveled she had looked that morning—loose hair, worn jeans, tourist shoes. Now her hair was neatly styled, she wore a lady’s dress and thin-strapped sandals. She looked very different.

The book she had bought today was dull. She drank tea again, quickly finishing another cup.

When she looked up, he raised his head and met her eyes.

Her face flushed.

She worried he hadn’t recognized her, or worse, that he had—and thought her behavior rude.

After much hesitation, she decided to greet him, even if coldly received.

She packed her things and walked slowly toward him under his gaze.

She had imagined many times what she would say if she met him again.

But when the moment came, she still hadn’t decided. So she said awkwardly, “What a coincidence, we meet again.” Then she forced a smile.

Chen Ziyou rarely smiled. As a child, her teeth were misaligned, and to avoid showing them she had developed the habit of not smiling.

She sometimes practiced in front of the mirror, timidly, reluctantly, always feeling ugly.

Her smile now was not met with his. But he did not ignore her. He said politely, “There’s no one opposite me.”

“Huh?” She didn’t understand at first.

“You’re standing taller than me. My neck hurts looking up.” His tone was polite.

She immediately sat down opposite him.

She didn’t know what to say. Seeing the large book in front of him, she asked helplessly, “Are you preparing for the postgraduate exam? TOEFL?”

She regretted it instantly, not wanting him to think her nosy.

The man closed the page, pressed his finger on the book, and turned it 180 degrees to show the cover. It was a thick geological magazine.

Then he glanced at the book in her hand. Chen Ziyou quickly pulled it to her chest, hiding the title. But she suspected he had seen it, because something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Ashamed, she turned her head and changed the subject: “I thought you were a student.”

“Yes.”

“Geology major?”

“Yes.”

“This major is very hard, isn’t it?”

“It’s okay.”

Chen Ziyou couldn’t think of any new topics, and the two sat in brief silence.

“My name is Jiang Licheng,” the man suddenly broke the quiet.

“Huh?”

“You wanted to know last time.”

“Oh. My name is Chen Ziyou.”

“I remember.”

“Your name is like a knight in an ancient Gu Long novel.” She looked at Jiang Licheng with a puzzled expression and added, “Don’t you read Gu Long novels?”

“I haven’t. But I know of him. He was said to be an alcoholic.”

Chen Ziyou laughed sincerely this time. When she smiled without calculation, without rehearsing the curve of her lips, she looked naïve and pure.

Jiang Licheng studied her for a moment, then slowly took something from his pocket and opened his palm. “Is this yours?”

His fingers were long and slender, his palm broad. Resting there was a necklace: a thin gold chain with a jade safety buckle, its texture the fine mutton-fat white jade, the gold inlay carved into a peculiar shape like an ancient totem. It was the gift her grandfather had given her when she came of age, said to be old and precious.

She gasped at the sight, stunned by the loss and sudden recovery. Reaching out, she asked, “Where did you find it?”

But before she could touch it, Jiang Licheng closed his palm, holding the necklace firmly.

He seemed to smile faintly. “You treat me to a cup of coffee.”

——

Chen Ziyou asked, “What kind of coffee do you drink?” She was so nervous she couldn’t even change her tone.

“Whatever.”

There was a menu on the table. She scanned it line by line.

The café was for students, the prices low, the quality modest. No matter which option she chose, she felt it unworthy of her benefactor, tasteless in comparison.

Finally, she said, “I know a very interesting coffee shop, not far from here. Would you like to go?”

She hadn’t expected Jiang Licheng to agree so readily.

The shop was on another street, three bus stops away.

She wanted to take a taxi—she always did. But Jiang Licheng’s plain clothes and clean temperament made her worry that her young-lady style would leave a bad impression.

So she pulled him onto the bus.

After boarding, she rummaged through her pocket but couldn’t find two yuan. Embarrassed, she froze until Jiang Licheng calmly tossed two coins.

Her cheeks burned with shame.

Fortunately, the ride was short. They arrived at a newly opened pottery bar, with a handicraft area, a rest area, and a petty-bourgeois atmosphere.

The young, beautiful owner poured coffee herself, creating patterns in the cups.

Chen Ziyou’s cup bore a kitty’s head. Jiang Licheng’s took longer, but in the end was only a simple heart. The owner cast him an affectionate look, but he ignored it, turning away.

Chen Ziyou suppressed a laugh. She had visited with classmates before, always facing the boss’s cold expression. Now she felt a small pleasure of revenge.

Jiang Licheng didn’t mock her mood. He studied the coffee carefully before sipping. Then he looked around. “Only a little girl could find this place.”

Chen Ziyou glanced at the mature women nearby and added seriously, “There are also big girls and old girls.”

For the first time since they met, Jiang Licheng smiled—not much, just a slight curve of his lips, but it lit the surroundings.

He placed her safety buckle on the table. “The little girl shouldn’t go to places like that at night, let alone drink.”

“It was my first time. And the first time I drank liquor,” Chen Ziyou defended.

Jiang Licheng looked straight at her, silent. His eyes were deep, like the sea, carrying a strange charm.

She wasn’t one to explain herself, but under his gaze she babbled—about her grandmother’s death, the old nanny, the betrayal of her first love and best friend. When it came to her parents, she only said they were liars, hiding the details.

She had never talked much. The only people she confided in were gone. Now, almost a stranger, she trusted him unconditionally.

And Jiang Licheng listened well. Focused, patient, never interrupting, never showing impatience. She spoke vaguely, tears in her eyes, and he understood everything.

Later, he said, “When you look back in two years, you’ll find these are trivial. My dad died when I was in elementary school. My mom left when I was in senior high. Both orphans, no relatives. My ex-girlfriend became my wife. The scammers I’ve met could form a company. Tell me—am I more worthy of sympathy than you?”

He said it lightly, almost joking. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or comforting.

“You don’t look like you need sympathy at all,” she said.

“Of course not. And they can’t sympathize with me. My dad was a criminal before he died. My mom… she had a nickname, ‘La Traviata.’ Do you know the story of La Traviata?”

Chen Ziyou stared at him, wide-eyed, shocked. “You’re teasing me.”

“Do you think I don’t look like the son of a criminal and a courtesan?” He lowered his eyes, unreadable.

“No. I mean…” She faltered, words clumsy. “Your parents must have been very good parents.” She rushed, finally finding the most appropriate words. And once again, she saw his faint, bright smile.

At the checkout, Jiang Licheng paid. Chen Ziyou protested, “Agreed, I would invite you.”

“Count it as your invitation,” he said, handing over a hundred-yuan bill.

He hailed a taxi and got in with her. “I’ll take you home. Where do you live?”

Chen Ziyou hesitated. She hadn’t returned home early in a long time. Her family was used to her late nights. And the name of her residence was too loud, too revealing. Facing him, she didn’t want to say.

“It’s inconvenient to tell? Or you don’t want to go home?” he asked patiently.

“You can drop me anywhere. I’ll go home later.” She admitted honestly. It was only three in the afternoon; she needed to wander for hours more.

“The little girl shouldn’t say ‘anywhere’ so casually.” Jiang Licheng gestured to the driver, who had been waiting. The car started. “If you have nothing to do, go wash that sheet for me.”

“Huh?” Chen Ziyou looked at him in surprise, suddenly remembering his joke from before. Her cheeks warmed.

But his tone was serious, his expression not frivolous. When she turned to look, he innocently held out his hand—not the one that had held her necklace. This hand’s five fingers were slender, knuckles defined, but a long scar ran across the palm, fresh and not fully healed.

Chen Ziyou couldn’t bear seeing wounds. Her heart trembled. Without thinking, she said, “Okay.”

Years later, grown and reflective, she would laugh at herself.

She thought of all the romance novels she had read. No heroine was ever so naïve, so easily deceived by such a simple line.

If she were a romance heroine, she would have been elected the stupidest without controversy.

That day, she followed Jiang Licheng back to his home in the deep alley.

The taxi stopped at the alley entrance. She walked behind him, step by step, panic and shyness mixing with a willful determination stronger than all her doubts.

The alley was long. Jiang Licheng walked steadily, his back straight, unlike most tall men who stooped, unlike young men who swayed. His steps were firm, like a landscape.

He didn’t look back until he reached his door. He stopped, turned, and looked at her. She was six or seven meters away, and she stopped too.

The sun shone directly into her eyes. He was backlit, his expression unclear. His voice was soft, with a hint of a smile. “Are you really coming?”

Chen Ziyou bit her lip.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll sell you?”

“You are a good person,” she said seriously.

“The bad guys don’t wear words on their faces.”

In truth, Jiang Licheng never lied to her. Later that day, she asked, “The story you told me was a joke, right?”

Jiang Licheng replied, “I also think it sounds like a joke.”

So she understood his words as agreement.

Later, she realized Jiang Licheng had never told her half a lie.

If she thought he had, it was only her own naïve wishful thinking.

He was so proud that he didn't disdain to lie at all, especially when the object was her.

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