Chapter 12: The Road That Leads Home

 

"Oh, right."

Anan had nearly reached the door when Cheng Yun's voice pulled him back. He turned, patient, waiting.

"Buy me an outfit tomorrow," she said.

His gaze flickered instinctively to what she wore.

"Underwear."

Anan's eyes cut away immediately. A soft "hmm" escaped his throat, and then he was gone.

Cheng Yun listened as his footsteps retreated through the rain, each sound growing fainter until they dissolved completely into the downpour. Slowly, inexorably, a smile curved across her face. As it bloomed, her eyes wandered—dancing from the stool beside her to the sofa, to the ceiling, finally landing on the air conditioner and bedside table, as if cataloging witnesses to something unspoken.

She let herself fall sideways onto the bed, boneless with contentment.

In her hand: the pack of cigarettes.

Cheng Yun held it up, examining it through the frame of her slender fingers as though discovering the brand for the first time. There was a small crease on the cigarette pack—barely noticeable, but she noticed everything.

She imagined Anan's large hand gripping it too tightly, hurrying through the rain to bring it back to her. He didn't smoke. Wouldn't know the proper feel of a cigarette pack in his palm, wouldn't understand how to hold it gently. In his urgency, in his careful haste, a crease was inevitable.

Yet despite the wrinkle, the pack remained completely dry. Not a hint of dampness. He'd protected it from the rain that had soaked through everything else.

She studied it for a long moment, then turned over, placed the cigarettes on the bedside table with deliberate care, and pulled the covers over herself.

Once cocooned in warmth, all her scattered thoughts settled like dust. Within two minutes, Cheng Yun was asleep.

---

That day, Cheng Yun had a dream.

It was remarkable—a small miracle, really—because Cheng Yun rarely dreamed.

She found herself walking across a desolate open field. A long railway track ran parallel to her path, overgrown with weeds that spoke of disuse and abandonment. She walked for what felt like hours without encountering a single person, a single house. It seemed the entire world had contracted to contain only herself and that endless railway track.

She didn't know why she was walking. Had no destination, no purpose. But in the logic of dreams, her steps never stopped. Even without anywhere to go, she kept walking.

After an unknowable stretch of time, she heard it—a train whistle, distant and mournful, echoing from somewhere far away.

She turned to look. No train.

The sound grew clearer, closer, more insistent. Finally, Cheng Yun couldn't help but speak—though even as she formed the words, some part of her knew the truth.

People can't speak in dreams.

As the sentence formed on her lips, her eyes opened. Her mouth was slightly parted, poised to say something, but she'd already forgotten what.

The phone on the bedside table buzzed with relentless persistence.

Cheng Yun reached for it slowly, eyes still heavy with sleep, vision blurred.

"Who is it?"

The person on the other end clearly hadn't expected her to answer in this tone. After a moment's hesitation: "It's me." A pause, then, perhaps realizing her mental state might require clarification: "Zhou Dongnan."

Cheng Yun covered her head with her hand. "What?"

"It's already 6:40."

She hummed slowly in acknowledgment.

"We agreed to leave at 7 o'clock."

"...Yeah."

"We're all ready, just waiting for you."

Cheng Yun took a deep breath. "...Yeah."

Three affirmative hums in succession. She set down the phone and sat up, rubbing her face vigorously, trying to summon consciousness through friction alone.

She washed, dressed, and emerged at precisely 7 o'clock.

Anan and Director Zhang were already prepared, waiting for her at the inn's entrance.

Director Zhang chatted with the staff in that effortless way of hers, while Zhou Dongnan stood apart, solitary and self-contained. As Director Zhang talked, one of the staff members gestured toward something behind her. She turned and spotted Cheng Yun.

"Sister Cheng, you're awake! Would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry. Have you eaten?" She directed the question at Anan.

"We've already eaten."

"Let's go then."

After settling accounts, the three of them walked out together. As they descended the hillside, Anan's dilapidated vehicle came into view.

Last night's rain had washed it clean—or cleaner, at least. But the storm had also revealed new damage. Paint peeled in patches like diseased skin. Scratches and dents covered the body in a topography of wear and weather, making it look less like a car and more like something that had survived a war.

Cheng Yun approached it, glancing at Anan with a sigh that contained something between affection and exasperation. "The same as always."

Anan walked straight ahead, not meeting her eyes.

Director Zhang followed behind with visible reluctance, clearly questioning her life choices. Cheng Yun noticed and decided to inject some levity into the moment.

"Xiao Zhang, don't be nervous, just experience it. The more difficult the environment, the more we must face it head-on. After overcoming countless difficulties, we'll eventually see the light at the end of the tunnel."

Director Zhang laughed, her tension breaking. "Haha, okay, let's overcome all difficulties."

Cheng Yun walked over and opened the back door with theatrical formality. "Come on, Director Zhang, please."

Director Zhang skipped forward and climbed in.

When Cheng Yun turned back, she found Anan standing directly behind her. The passenger door stood open. He looked at her and gestured toward the seat—an invitation without words.

Cheng Yun sat. Director Zhang, still by the back door, called out with genuine concern, "Sister Cheng, if you're uncomfortable, you must tell me. Our travel agency has branches in many places in Guizhou, so changing vehicles is easy."

"Oh, a big company!" Cheng Yun exclaimed with exaggerated admiration.

Director Zhang smiled sheepishly. "It can't compare to Sister Cheng."

Cheng Yun settled into her seat and turned to face Director Zhang directly. "No need to change vehicles, you'll see once you sit in it. This vehicle has its advantages."

"What advantages?"

Cheng Yun raised her hand, slender fingers tracing a circle through the air inside the vehicle. "Ventilation—it's airy from all directions. What do we want when we travel? A smooth ride, isn't it?"

Director Zhang chuckled, charmed despite herself.

As Cheng Yun spoke, Anan worked at locking the door beside her—a complicated process involving chains and careful manipulation.

Halfway through, Cheng Yun leaned over, close enough that he could probably feel her breath. "Don't you think so?"

Anan didn't answer, continuing to fiddle with the chain mechanism.

Last night's rain had stopped sometime after midnight. Today dawned bright and clear—the air crystalline, the sky that particular shade of azure that only follows a storm. Cheng Yun didn't care whether he replied or not. She stretched luxuriously, cheerful and unrestrained.

Just as she finished her stretch, a low voice materialized beside her.

"What is it...?"

Cheng Yun turned her head. Anan had already finished with the lock and was walking around the front of the car to the driver's side.

She watched as he settled into the driver's seat with his characteristic lack of expression, started the engine with practiced efficiency. She couldn't help but laugh—a genuine sound of delight that seemed to surprise even her.

---

The car wound its way along the mountain road. At this point, the "advantages" Cheng Yun had touted became apparent. She leaned back, draping one arm casually over the window frame, letting the refreshing mountain breeze caress her face. She squinted contentedly, morning drowsiness evaporating in the clean air.

Director Zhang leaned against the front seat. "Sister Cheng, which Dong village would you like to visit?"

Cheng Yun glanced at Anan with studied casualness, but his attention remained fixed entirely on the winding mountain road, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.

She turned back. "Which one is more famous?"

"If you're looking for famous ones, Zhaoxing Dong Village and Qixing Dong Village are both good," Director Zhang said. "Zhaoxing Dong Village is quite large; it's one of the best Dong villages in the country."

Silence filled the car. Cheng Yun glanced sideways. "Hey—"

Director Zhang followed her gaze to the man driving beside them.

Such an obvious stare would have captured anyone's attention, but Anan remained motionless, eyes fixed forward, showing no intention of acknowledging the conversation happening around him.

Cheng Yun studied him with leisurely amusement. "I'm talking to Mr. Zhou."

Director Zhang chuckled.

"Could you do me the honor of taking a look?"

Now that she'd called him out so directly, Anan had no reasonable escape. He glanced over. "What's wrong?"

"Which Dong village is interesting?"

"None of them are interesting."

After these few days together, Director Zhang had grown comfortable with Cheng Yun and had shed much of her initial reserve. Hearing Anan's words, she couldn't help but slap the back of his seat in protest.

"How come nothing is interesting to you? Have you even been there before?"

Anan glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "I have."

"You're just giving people away, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Of course it's not interesting if you're just giving people away. You have to experience it to know if it's interesting."

Director Zhang's eyes widened with righteous indignation, like a fighting rooster ready for battle. Anan glanced at her again in the mirror, then fell silent—a tactical retreat.

After her victory, Director Zhang turned to Cheng Yun. "Sister Cheng, how about we go to Zhaoxing Dong Village?"

Cheng Yun looked at Anan. "What do you think?"

Anan glanced around and found Director Zhang staring at him with triumphant expectation. He nodded—a small surrender.

"Okay."

Cheng Yun smiled. "Let's go there. Is it far?"

This time Anan answered without hesitation.

"Not far, it's in Liping, only three or four hours away."

---

Along the way, Director Zhang chatted excitedly with Cheng Yun, introducing this landmark and that vista with the enthusiasm of a professional guide. Once they entered Kaili city, she gradually quieted. By the time they merged onto the highway, Director Zhang had completely adapted to Anan's driving style and dozed off in the back seat.

The car drove quietly through the highway's monotony.

After more than an hour, Cheng Yun stared out the window at the repetitive scenery, boredom setting in like a physical weight.

Then—as if sensing a shift in the air—she turned her head.

Anan was looking at her.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Why should I sleep?"

The response left Anan momentarily speechless. He turned back to driving, defeated by her logic.

Wind from the open window ruffled his hair, disrupting its usual order.

Cheng Yun studied his profile—the clean line of his jaw, the darkness of his skin against the bright day.

His complexion made his lips appear darker than average. His brow bones were prominent, creating deep-set eyes that held shadows even in sunlight.

"Anan," she called softly.

He hummed in acknowledgment.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're quite handsome?"

Without hesitation: "Yes."

Cheng Yun blinked, genuinely surprised. "Is it possible for you to say even the most embarrassing things so expressionlessly?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

Anan glanced at her quickly, then returned his attention to the road.

"Don't want to say?"

"No..." Anan said softly. "Why are you asking?"

"Aren't you also of the Dong ethnic group?"

"Yes."

"Is your home in Zhaoxing Dong Village?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Do you live in the city?"

When questions turned personal, Anan's response time lengthened noticeably—as if each answer required careful excavation from some deep, protected place.

But Cheng Yun was patient. The road was long, and she had nowhere else to be.

"I don't live in the city; my home is in a Dong village too," Anan finally said.

"Which Dong village?"

"It's not named," he said. "It's very remote, not as big as Zhaoxing."

"Is it in Liping?"

"No, in Rongjiang."

"Are there any other Dong villages in Rongjiang?"

"There's a Sanbao Dong Village."

Cheng Yun turned forward, looking at the road stretching ahead of them. "Let's go to Rongjiang."

The car continued its smooth progression. Anan remained silent, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles showed pale against his dark skin.

After their exchange, Cheng Yun's decision seemed to flow naturally from the conversation. But whether there were deeper currents beneath that apparent naturalness—whether this was impulse or intention—remained unspoken, unknown.

After more than ten minutes of weighted silence, Anan whispered, "Are you really going?"

"Yes."

Cheng Yun's reply was simple, definitive. She kept her gaze fixed on the landscape sliding past her window.

The car's speed decreased. They exited the highway, choosing a different road—one that led somewhere unnamed, somewhere that might feel like home.