Chapter 23: Plane Crash

Jiaqi woke up suddenly in the early morning. The curtains were drawn, and the bedroom was dark. She woke up abruptly.

The alarm clock on the bedside table already pointed to 8:26.

His flight had roared into the sky, leaving the city just hours ago.

And she was about to leave too.

She got up, washed, and began packing some odds and ends. There wasn't much to pack, just some clothes in a small suitcase.

She went downstairs for breakfast. There was a small snack shop not far from the apartment complex, where the soy milk was incredibly delicious. Jiaqi ordered a cup of sweet soy milk and a fried dough stick, only to find that the owner had changed.

The soy milk was still as rich and delicious as ever. The new owners were a middle-aged couple who told her that the young couple had gone back to Sichuan.

"The young boss's wife is pregnant, and he's beaming from ear to ear. He feels sorry for his wife working so hard making breakfast, so the couple went back to their hometown to have the baby. They said they'd come back to work when the child is older, and we'll take over the shop."

In this noisy world, even amidst the hustle and bustle, there's still room for an ordinary couple to raise their children and live happily together.

It was still early, and Jiaqi remembered that Ruan Zhengdong had mentioned wanting to eat Meiyuan's milk rolls a few days ago. Thinking she had nothing to do in the morning, she decided to buy some for him to take back to Shanghai.

She stood on the street waiting for a taxi.

Next door was an electronics store, with countless televisions in its large windows, broadcasting the hourly news.

The presenter, with a dignified appearance and even a proper smile, reported the news in standard Mandarin: "After the Two Sessions released the latest draft, the public reacted enthusiastically. With the Spring Festival approaching, the Spring Festival travel rush has reached its peak, and long queues have formed at the train station to buy tickets. Several traffic accidents occurred last night due to the snow. The municipal department deployed all snowplows and sprayed de-icing agents to ensure smooth traffic..."

She listened casually. Taxis are hardest to find after a snowfall, and all the taxis coming and going were already carrying passengers.

"This is a report we just received. At 9:27 AM this morning, a Boeing 747 belonging to Air China crashed in Russia. It has been confirmed that there were 232 passengers and 13 crew members on board. The Boeing aircraft, flight number 'CA980,' took off from Beijing Capital International Airport this morning, en route to New York International Airport. Seven minutes before the crash, the aircraft sent an emergency distress signal to Russian air traffic control. Shortly after sending the signal, it lost contact with the ground. It has been confirmed that the aircraft crashed near the Verkhoyansk Mountains in Russia. Due to severe weather conditions, including a blizzard, Russian rescue personnel are unable to reach the crash site. The temperature in the crash area is currently as low as -43°C, and the chances of survival for the passengers are extremely slim..."

Jiaqi looked up. It was a winter morning, and the post-snow sun shone like golden leaves, blanketing everyone.

Meng Heping!

Meng Heping was on that plane.

He had come to say goodbye last night, telling her that he was on that flight.

She swayed, almost unable to stand.

She thought everything had started anew.

The past was long gone. She thought it was just a fresh start. But with the emptiness of exhaustion, with the deep pain, the most important part of her life was brutally ripped away—completely ripped away. Completely wiped clean, leaving not a trace. She had lost so much, so much that was so important, thinking she could never get it back. She resolved to sever everything, to truly forget, to become complete strangers. To examine every bit of happiness she had ever experienced, to try and forget all the laughter and tears. Just to be complete strangers, standing on this side of the world, gazing at each other across the ocean. Just knowing would be enough.

But fate was so cruel, leaving her not even a last glimmer of hope.

In this world, he wouldn't even leave her his final presence.

He left, gone forever.

She couldn't accept it. She couldn't help it. She could lose everything, and she already had everything, but why was he so cruel, so mercilessly treating her, taking away even the last vestige of his existence?

She didn't cry. She felt like she was in a nightmare, unable to break free, desperately trying to think, "No, this can't be."

How could he leave her like this?

She could barely breathe, because each breath brought unbearable pain. The excruciating pain numbed her, making her think, "This is a dream. If it's a dream, I'll wake up eventually, wake up and know it's all fake."

She stood there for a long time before finally hailing a taxi. She casually gave the driver an address and leaned against the window, watching the street scene. So many cars, flowing like a river, interspersed with her small car, rushing forward. She felt like she was sleepwalking, or trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up no matter how much she struggled. Everything around her was blurry, and she herself was in a daze.

"Miss, we've arrived."

She snapped out of her daze, frantically checking the meter, paying, and grabbing a wad of change before getting out of the taxi. It sped away, and she realized she was standing in front of a large, old-fashioned residential area—rows of matchbox-like houses with windows densely packed like a honeycomb.

How did she get here?

Her phone rang. She took it out to check.

"Ruan Zhengdong calling? Answer?"

The screen vibrated incessantly, repeatedly asking, "Ruan Zhengdong calling? Answer?"

She casually turned off her phone and unconsciously walked away. Turning left, then west, she saw a familiar, old doorway plastered with colorful advertisements: "Professional Dredging," "Luyuan Pure Water," "Yiwei Cleaning"... Torn pieces of paper clung to the walls, and bold, black spray-painted lettering—"13XXXXXXXX Diploma Services"—was a striking sight.

In the corner, there was a small black box with "Quick Locksmith" written inside. The phone number painted on it had faded, and the scattered, blurry Arabic numerals were no longer legible, making it impossible to distinguish the "0," "6," or "9."

She remembered that she had just started working then. The company was in the west of the city, and it took her two hours by bus to get home. Every day she was exhausted, so much so that she could doze off on the bus. Once, her bag was slashed on the bus, and her wallet and keys were gone. Unfortunately, Meng Heping was also working overtime. She sat alone in the stairwell for half the night in the cold wind, her teeth chattering. Several times she considered calling the locksmith to have it broken, but she resisted and waited until Meng Heping got off work, almost frozen solid, and he scolded her severely.

Later, when they came home, she held a hot water bottle, and he held her. It took her a while to recover. Later, she developed a high fever that wouldn't break. He was so worried that he took leave from work to take care of her at the hospital. She was sick for a very long time that time. She had always been very healthy and had never been that sick before. She seemed to have suddenly become very weak. Every day, she went in and out of the hospital for IV drips, bag after bag of medicine. The veins on the back of her hand were becoming difficult to find suitable needle sites. The nurses would pat the back of her hand, causing a dull, dull pain. But with him there, he would gently cover her eyes with his hand so she wouldn't see the moment the needle pierced her skin.

---

She climbed the stairs step by step. The stairwell was narrow and dark. Even in broad daylight, heavy footsteps would trigger the motion-activated lights. On the fourth floor, to the left, she saw the familiar, old green security door, its paint peeling off, many places blackened, revealing the iron bars underneath.

She reached into her bag, but found nothing. She reached into every pocket and lining, but still nothing. She simply emptied the bag and squatted down to search through everything.

Phone, wallet, makeup mirror, lipstick, powder compact, tissues, keys... She patiently turned everything over, searching every nook and cranny. Finally, a small velvet pouch fell out.

Inside the pouch were the keys, with a small peach wood tag attached to the keychain. One side was engraved with three characters, "Born in September," and the other side had a winding amulet for protection. It was a gift from Heping. She was born in the ninth lunar month, so he bought this amulet for her to ward off evil. In some ways, he was just like that—childlike, even a little superstitious. She always laughed at him, calling him an idealist. She always forgot her keys, so he would put them in a woolen bag for her, always remembering to put it in her purse. Over the years, she had changed handbag after handbag, but this woolen bag was always firmly kept in her purse.

It was the key to their home. When the thief snatched her bag that day, she chased after him without hesitation, because the bag contained this set of keys. She couldn't live without it.

It was the key to home.

It was the key to their shared home.

Her palms were slightly sweaty. The keys felt hard and uncomfortable as she gripped them.

The landlord hadn't changed the security door, but the locks had definitely been changed long ago.

She felt a deep sadness, and tears suddenly streamed down her face.

She could never go back.

He had left just like that, gone forever, abandoning her like that.

The happiness they once shared was now separated from her by a vast distance. Everything she had once had was behind that door. So close, within reach, everything she once had. She gripped the iron bars of the door, trying to hold back her sobs. But she couldn't hold back any longer. She pounded on the door frantically, like a madwoman, crying and pounding: "Meng Heping! Meng Heping! I'm back! Meng Heping! Open the door, Meng Heping, open the door..."

She knew she was going crazy. The lights in the stairwell suddenly came on. She clutched the iron bars of the door, letting the tears stream down her face. The whole world had long abandoned her. He had abandoned her, left her behind, and gone on his own. Like this lock, it had been changed, discarded, banishing her away, never to return. The whole world had long since abandoned her. She could never get it all back.

Crying, she frantically shoved the key into the lock, twisting it desperately, hoping to see it one more time, to go back for just one more day. All that happiness she had, that happiness she could never have again. How could he just abandon her like that, so cruelly walking away?

Everything she once had existed behind this door.

"Meng Heping! I'm back! Open the door, Meng Heping..."

She gripped the metal key, desperately twisting it like a madwoman. He couldn't just leave like this.

She didn't want him to leave like this.

The lock clicked open.

She stood there like a fool.

The landlord hadn't changed the lock.

---

Everything inside was neat and tidy, as if she had never left. All the furniture was in its original place. The small one-bedroom apartment was completely clear. Everything was in its original place, including the simple wardrobe she'd bought at the supermarket for a little over three hundred yuan. The bedroom was too small to fit it all, so it had to be crammed into the living room. The wardrobe was still there, not even a speck of dust on it.

The floor had just been mopped. The tiles were still wet. Meng Heping never wrung out the mop, so the tiles were always wet. Two cups of tea on the table were still steaming. She was impatient and liked to drink cold tea, so he always cooled one for her too. Two cups sat side by side, not too close, not too far, wisps of steam rising from them. On the sunny windowsill sat a glass vase, filled with a bunch of ginger flowers, their white, fragrant blossoms like white butterflies—butterflies that should have flown away long ago.

Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. She couldn't even take a step, not even knowing how she had gotten inside. The screen door to the balcony was open, and the north wind howled in, the wind both cold and hot against her face, rolling down her cheeks...

On the balcony sat a wicker chair, where he sat alone, his face covered with stacks of newspapers, seemingly asleep, his arm dangling over the armrest, a cigarette between his fingers, its tiny red glow almost burning his hand.

She stood there, as if in a dream, tears streaming down her face. She dared not move, afraid that the slightest movement would shatter the dream. She feared she was dreaming, that everything before her was a hallucination on the verge of collapse.

He stirred, but didn't lift the newspaper. His voice was soft, as if he were talking to himself: "Jiaqi... I just heard you calling me to open the door again."

He remained motionless, his voice low: "Why do you always forget your keys? I come back every few days to tidy up the house and stuff. You're never home, so the house can't become a pigsty. I can only wait for this last time. I'm really leaving tomorrow. Don't think I'm waiting for you. I just haven't met a good one—if I had, I wouldn't be waiting for you. But You Jiaqi, I've searched and searched for so many years, and I haven't found another you."

She bit her lip and cried, bending down and finally reaching out to slowly lift the newspaper from his face. His face was gradually revealed. It wasn't a dream after all. A large tear fell heavily onto his face. He trembled, his breathing became heavy, and he finally slowly opened his eyes.

This was the first time in so many years that she had seen his face so closely. Through her blurry, tear-filled eyes, she could only see that he was thinner, much thinner, with fine lines at the corners of his eyes, no longer as smooth and full as before. Her tears fell in torrents onto his face, sliding down his cheeks, as if he were crying with her.

He seemed to be talking in a dream: "Jiaqi?"

She nodded frantically: "It's me, it's me."

She asked: "Why didn't you leave?"

He said: "I was afraid that if you came back, you wouldn't see me."

She hugged him tightly, and he opened his arms and hugged her tightly as well.

She couldn't speak. She could only cry.

"Jiaqi, when I arrived at the airport this morning, just before going through security, I thought, if I leave, I might never see you again. Just like that year when you left me—I was planning to go abroad to pursue my doctorate, and it was right before boarding the plane that I suddenly felt, I can't leave, I'm already so far away from you, how can I get any further away? I can't leave here, because you're here."

She couldn't speak. She could only cry.

"I've always been afraid, afraid to see you," he murmured, like a child. "But I'm even more afraid that you'll never come back."

She just wept.

"My mother passed away the year before last, Jiaqi. I'm speaking for her to say sorry to you. Please forgive her. In the end, she regretted it, but both she and I knew that some mistakes could not be made up for. I haven't dared to go to you because I couldn't make you happy at all. Instead, I made you suffer so much. All these years, I haven't been worthy of loving you anymore. I'm afraid to see you again, but I can't help it. I can't forget you."

Tears streamed down her face as he held her tightly.

---

Thoughts on Chapter 23

This chapter delivers the emotional climax of Meng Heping and Jiaqi's heartbreaking love story, taking readers through devastating loss to miraculous reunion. It's a masterclass in building and releasing tension, manipulating reader emotions from despair to overwhelming joy.

The chapter opens with deceptive calm—Jiaqi waking to pack, getting breakfast, planning to buy milk rolls for Ruan Zhengdong. The small detail about the soy milk shop owners going back to have their baby reinforces the theme of ordinary people finding simple happiness, contrasting sharply with the complex, painful situation Jiaqi faces.

Then comes the devastating blow: the news broadcast about flight CA980 crashing in Russia with no survivors. The clinical, detached news language—"chances of survival are extremely slim," temperature "-43°C"—makes the horror more visceral. Meng Heping, who said goodbye just last night, who told her his flight number, is presumed dead.

Jiaqi's reaction is brilliantly portrayed. She doesn't immediately break down. Instead, she enters a dissociative state of denial: "This is a dream. If it's a dream, I'll wake up eventually." The physical description of pain so intense she can barely breathe, the numbness, the feeling of sleepwalking through a nightmare—all capture the psychology of sudden, incomprehensible loss.

In her fugue state, she unconsciously directs the taxi to their old apartment—the home they shared before his mother's disapproval separated them. The lovingly detailed description of the shabby building, the faded locksmith ad, the peeling green security door, all anchor the memory in tactile reality. The flashback to waiting in the cold stairwell without keys, getting sick, him covering her eyes during IV insertions—these tender details show the depth of care they once shared.

The keys in the velvet pouch with the peach wood amulet ("Born in September") are laden with meaning. He gave her this protection charm because he was "childlike, even a little superstitious." She kept it through everything, through all the handbag changes, because "she couldn't live without it." It's the key to home—their shared home, their shared past, their shared love.

Her breakdown at the door is cathartic and devastating. She pounds on it "like a madwoman," crying his name, begging him to open the door. She believes he's dead and she's locked out of their past forever. The lock symbolizes everything she's lost and can never reclaim.