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She shouldn’t have cooked garlic pork. Not only because it made the kitchen smell like garlic, but also because she was now in tears. It was strange, the way grief worked: a familiar smell, a sudden memory that felt like a knife. A desperate longing for the simpler times, needles cutting her heart.
She cried softly. She didn't want to disturb her brother, who was furiously making salad.
“When are they coming?” Jiang Cheng asked as he threw shards of cabbage into the bowl. “His son and... that man.”
“He said they'd be here by tomorrow,” Yanli said when she could keep her voice steady.
“Mother won’t like it.”
“Well. It’s not her funeral.”
“Still.” There was a violent edge to Jiang Cheng’s voice. Yanli knew it was actually grief, pain so deep that her brother didn’t know how to handle it. “If that man respected us, he would have stayed in Suzhou.”
Maybe so. Yanli thought about that as they stood at the station, sweating in the warm and humid summer air. She felt uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the crowd and the noise of people coming and going.
“We’ll greet them kindly, won’t we, A-Cheng? They are A-Ying’s family.”
Her brother didn’t answer. A family passed by. Yanli envied the children whose mother smiled at them brightly. They looked like they weren’t stuck; they looked like they hadn’t lost words like goodbye.
She felt the urge to run.
“What is the man like?” Jiang Cheng asked after a while.
How could she know? She’d only met Lan Zhan once, fifteen years ago. He’d said a few words about the maidenhair trees outside (funny, how she remembered it so well). How could she describe it; Wei Ying’s tensed excitement when he had introduced the man, Yanli’s poorly disguised awkwardness, Lan Zhan’s quiet, almost shy demeanor? For her, he’d been extremely polite, but distant, unreachable. She’d found it rather strange. Wei Ying had been a talkative person, never shutting up, not even when Jiang Cheng threatened (had threatened, she corrected herself) to break his legs if he didn’t. But Lan Zhan had been cold. And when Lan Zhan had contacted her after the terrible accident, there had been a presence of silence in his speech. As if he didn't know how to speak anymore.
“Quiet. Calm. Handsome. I don’t know. He didn’t really talk to me.”
“Maybe he just didn’t have anything to say to you.”
The man who stepped off the train was the exact image from Yanli’s memories. Looking tired but observant, he stopped awkwardly in front of them, a bag in one hand and a child in the other; a seven-year-old boy who studied them with suspicion.
“Jiang Yanli?” the man asked with a soft voice.
“That’s me. Welcome to Wuhan." She smiled at the child. "You must be Yuan?”
The boy nodded.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Lan Zhan said, and Yanli waved her hand.
“No bother. A-Cheng, please take our guests’ luggage, and –”
But Lan Zhan interrupted her: “No need, Miss Jiang.”
Without waiting, he walked out of the station with his son.
The air in the car was too hot, but none of them complained. Yanli studied the men through the mirrors as they stood at the traffic lights. Jiang Cheng didn't curse the amount of traffic even once, just tapped his fingers against the window in an accelerating rhythm. Lan Zhan, on the back seat, was still, like a statue of an ancient god. His face was delicate and beautiful in a melancholic way, as if he was crying without tears.
She hadn’t realised how deep the silence between them was until the boy, Yuan, broke it.
“Father?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Hm?”
“When will we give the flowers? For Dad?”
Lan Zhan looked at his son and spoke quietly.
“After the funeral.”
“Can we plant them? In the soil?”
The tapping of Jiang Cheng’s fingers stopped.
“All the flowers have already been bought.” His voice was as harsh as his face. “There’s no room for more.”
Yanli saw how Lan Zhan looked at Jiang Cheng through the rearview mirror. The melancholy on his face turned into visible hatred. But Yanli, she couldn’t bring herself to say a word.
After that, silence fell.
She found her voice again when she saw Lan Zhan studying framed photos in their tiny flat.
“Isn’t that a good picture of him?”
There, among the photos of their family and their relatives’ children (she realised with a piercing shame that there was not a single photo of Yuan or Lan Zhan), was Wei Ying, young as ever, smiling brightly on a boat, the reflections of the lake shining in his eyes.
For Yanli, Wei Ying had always been a sun. A sun that let people bathe in his warmth.
“He looks so happy," she said. “It's one of the last photos we took before he left us.”
Lan Zhan didn't look at her.
“He did not leave you.”
And, well, that was cruel. Because he did, he did leave her. But she knew what Lan Zhan meant, and she’d rather not.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, you and your son must be hungry. I’ll go prepare dinner.” She was a coward, that's what she was. “You can sleep in the room over there. It was... it used to be…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but she was sure that Lan Zhan understood.
*
“What the hell?” said Jiang Cheng after slamming the kitchen door violently shut. “Did you see that? Didn’t say a word for me! Not that I wanted to talk to him, but –” He seemed to realise how loud he was talking, so he lowered his voice. “What does he think of himself? We are kind enough to invite… Jie?”
Yanli felt his hand on her shoulder. This wasn’t the first time she cried today. Tears were like a sprinkler going on and off, endlessly.
“You should rest, Jie.”
“He left us, didn’t he?”
“Let me make you some tea.”
“No... we left him, didn’t we?”
“Chrysanthemum or Pu’er?”
Yanli wanted to tell her brother to leave, to tell him that she could stand on her own two feet. But the grief seemed to attack her everywhere she went, because everywhere she went, she saw him.
She leaned into her brother’s arms, and he smelled so familiar, so home, that she suddenly felt not sorry for herself, but for the man who would be sleeping in the room Wei Ying used to sleep in, because she could not comprehend how empty he must feel.
Lan Zhan insisted on helping to set the table. He didn't speak at all, and Yanli was relieved. Yuan, on the other hand, explored their apartment with curiosity: he peeked into the bathroom, admired the drawings framed on the wall – Yanli could have told him that they were made by Wei Ying, but she didn’t – and then he noticed the little balcony. Yanli opened the door for him, and Yuan glanced shyly at her.
“The air is humid,” Yanli said. “It smells like summer.”
Yuan grasped the metallic railing of the balcony – it was a narrow and cranky thing, only good for smoking and drying laundry – but the child studied it with an endearing precision. He kneeled to the floor and picked a fallen leaf near Yanli’s feet.
“Did you find a cherry tree leaf?”
“It’s a gift.”
“A gift?”
“For Father.” Yuan held the leaf carefully on his palm. “Dad sometimes let me sit on his shoulders and collect leaves from trees, and then he put a leaf or a flower in Father’s hair.”
Yanli touched Yuan’s hair very lightly.
“I’m sure your gift will make your father happy.”
Yuan returned to the kitchen and poked his father's leg. Lan Zhan knelt down. Yanli looked away.
She had to admit that Yuan was a good child, kind and polite. There was a smile in his eyes. This observation almost made her think of him, but she refused to cry again. During the dinner, she wondered briefly, what the story behind this child was. How had he come to live with Lan Zhan and... well. She was ashamed of not knowing.
Perhaps Yuan carried his father like Jiang Cheng carried Yanli. A child shouldn’t have that kind of burden. Did he feel the tension between them? Did he understand why his father didn't look Jiang Cheng in the eye, why Jiang Cheng kept that ugly frown on his face? Had Lan Zhan explained to him why they had to come to Wuhan; why not have the funeral in Shanghai?
”What is your favourite subject at school, Yuan?” she asked during the dinner, just to say something to break the heavy silence that had invaded their home.
The boy looked politely at her.
”Reading, Miss Jiang.”
”Ah, please, call me Aunt Yanli.”
”The chicken is very good, Aunt Yanli.”
Such a good child indeed.
Next to Yanli, Jiang Cheng put his hands on the table.
“We have planned the funeral. First the wake. Then the burial. Then the condolences. And that's it. You can leave as soon as you want."
Lan Zhan didn’t even nod. He sat on the table for a polite amount of time, not touching his food, then left without a word.
Yanli didn't mind, of course, but Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed at the sight. As Yanli had expected, he began to complain while they were doing the dishes.
”That... that man did not even eat your chicken. Perfectly cooked Beijing chicken goes to waste.”
”Sometimes you can be too sad to eat.”
”Even his... the boy, even the boy is more polite than him.”
Yanli didn’t answer, because she could see that Jiang Cheng had started a fight, a secret competition between him and Lan Zhan. It was what Jiang Cheng did; it was what he had been taught to do. They all knew that a man did not cry, he became angry. How petty, Yanli thought. How petty indeed. But she wasn’t exactly in a position to judge.
During the wake, the smell of incense filled their living room. Candlelight glimmered on the photo in which Wei Ying was still smiling at her. He seemed to be so full of life that it was impossible to comprehend he wasn’t here anymore. Photos, Yanli thought, they were a proof that someone cared about you. Someone wanted to make the smile on your face last forever.
Lan Zhan was calm, as if he had fallen asleep. He didn’t move, didn’t speak or even glance towards them or the occasional guests who came to pay their condolences. Sometimes he lighted up a new incense. Once, he let Yuan burn one. As the night went on, the boy fell asleep on Lan Zhan’s lap.
Yanli had so many questions. What did Wei Ying do in Shanghai? Did he still play the piano? Did you ever live with him in his flat in Wuhan? The one with the slightly cracked screen doors and the loud family upstairs? Have you been in Shanghai for all these years? I remember he said you were doing research at Shanghai University, so I figured that's where he’d gone. He said you would have a great career. As if that would have made Mother and Father approve of you. Do you know what they said to each other that day? Did he tell you?
Somehow she could sense that Wei Ying had told him Things.
*
The first time Yanli properly spoke with Lan Zhan was before the burial. The early morning air tasted humid and stifling, and Yanli was sweating in her dress as she sorted through the envelopes they had received.
There were fewer of them than she had expected. Not that she wanted the money, or the flowers, but somehow she had believed that Wei Ying had a lot of friends. And even though Mother had not wanted to invite many people, at least not after Yanli had insisted on inviting Lan Zhan, there was nothing stopping people from sending their condolences by letter. And yet.
Just a few letters from their relatives, a few from childhood friends. Holding them made her sick. Was it too much to ask, to let her believe that Wei Ying had been loved, that even though his path had diverged from their family, there were other people who would feel his absence?
Mother was coming to pay her condolences after the burial. She was the only guest; their father had died a year ago. Yanli wondered briefly if anyone had told Wei Ying about it. Death was a tragedy in itself, but Father’s death had not only chopped a hole in Yanli’s life, but also, if possible, made Mother even more dangerous.
In the garden, Yanli saw Yuan collecting leaves and Lan Zhan standing under a willow tree.
She hesitated. Perhaps Lan Zhan was mourning, and she should let him be. But Yanli needed an anchor, and maybe, just maybe, Lan Zhan needed one too.
Lan Zhan nodded at her as she stopped beside him. They spent a while in silence as Lan Zhan kept looking somewhere far away.
It was strange how comfortable Lan Zhan’s silence was. Yanli was used to her brother’s angry silence, a sign of fear and failure, a loss of words. But Lan Zhan's silence said: There is no need to say anything.
It was effortless. Yet far from simple.
”Am I bothering you?” she asked.
”No,” Lan Zhan said, his voice deep and soft as silk. The leaves cast shadows across his face. “I was remembering.”
”Remembering what?”
Lan Zhan nodded towards the street.
”There, at the crossroads, once. I sat on his scooter while he drove. A car nearly hit us, and he cursed at the driver, even though he was the one at fault. But I held him tightly, as if it made me immortal.” His eyes were fixed on the memory. ”I told him we were going to die if he wasn’t more careful. He only laughed.”
There was a restaurant behind the traffic lights, and that kind of shop in the wall where you could buy anything. Yanli remembered Wei Ying's scooter. An old thing that barely worked. It had always smelled of petrol, but Wei Ying had said it was a masculine smell and refused to do anything about it. Jiang Cheng had sold the vehicle soon after Wei Ying had left.
”You were here?” she asked.
”It was when I was still living in Wuhan.”
There was now something soft in Lan Zhan. No sharp edges on his face anymore. He looked like he had fallen in a sweet memory.
"How did you two meet?" Yanli asked. "For the first time?"
"He used to work in a bar."
“Oh, he did, in the western part of town… I think he rather liked it.”
“Well, I lived upstairs from that bar.” There was a twinkle in Lan Zhan's eye, but it was gone before Yanli could be sure she had seen it. “They were loud. I let him know that a few times.”
So that’s why Wei Ying had stopped complaining about his work. Yanli should have known.
Hesitating, she asked: “Are you sad that we are the only ones at the funeral?”
”Why would that make me sad?”
”So few.” She felt her throat tighten again. ”He deserves more mourners... more friends.”
Lan Zhan was quiet for a long time. Yanli could see that he was going to say something important, so she waited.
Words. They needed some time. Some peace.
”He has friends," Lan Zhan said. "Had.” For the first time, Yanli could hear the sadness in his voice. ”In Shanghai. They all wish to attend his memorial. I am not certain how they will fit into our home, but they will.”
Gentle wind rustled leaves above them, and Yanli felt stupid.
Of course there was another memorial. The real memorial, perhaps. In Shanghai, in his home, with his family.
Of course there was. The Jiangs were no longer Wei Ying’s family. Not for over a decade.
It was relieving.
On the yellow grass Yuan was now admiring a butterfly. His face was round and his eyes bright, and he babbled to his father who sometimes nodded or hummed in response. Seeing the child made Yanli feel a little better.
"Your son reminds me a lot of A-Ying."
"Mm," Lan Zhan said. There was tenderness in his eyes. "You have no children, Miss Jiang?"
"I'm not even married." Yanli tried not to sound embarrassed.
"Do you intend to marry?"
”Hopefully yes, if I’m not too old for that," she said with a small laugh. But it still stung to say it. At thirty-seven, her time was running out. Mother made sure to remind her of that every time they met.
The handsome face of one certain Jin Zixuan flashed in her mind. He was a kind man who often talked about the wonders of the world: the birds he would like to see in South America, the mountains and the canyons, the Mediterranean sea full of turquoise. Then he looked guilty, as if these were forbidden dreams. As if Yanli didn't belong in them.
Yes, Jin Zixuan. If only he was actually interested in her; if only she was interested in him.
She could hear Mother's voice: A lawyer! Good family, great pay. Just try to be good enough for him. An old woman like you doesn’t have a lot to offer…
“I have a candidate,” she said. “A successful man. It would be a convenient marriage.”
She expected Lan Zhan to nod politely, but he remained silent for a moment.
”Do you wish to marry?” he asked.
”Well, I should.”
”I did not ask that.”
”Oh, Lan Zhan. It’s complicated.”
”If you really do want to marry, you are just the right age. It would be a privilege for any man to have you as a wife.”
The words came with such honesty that it made Yanli flustered. She lowered her gaze like a teenage girl.
”Stop flattering me.”
”I’m simply stating the truth.”
”You make me feel sorry for being out of your league, Lan Zhan!”
Lan Zhan didn’t smile.
*
Mother was not here to please.
Yanli held her breath as she watched her mother walk in the living room like a lioness looking for prey. The pungent magnolia smell of her perfume made Yanli sick, and the bright yellow of her dress hurt her eyes.
“Elders are not responsible for preparing funerals,” Mother said. “You should have left him at the funeral home. How much does this cost you?”
"Not much," said Jiang Cheng instead of explaining that almost the whole ceremony was paid by Lan Zhan.
“An unmarried bachelor like him. What were you thinking? He has no blood relatives here. Besides, that dress makes you look fat," Mother said to Yanli, who did not answer.
Then the prey arrived: Lan Zhan stepped inside with Yuan, both in black suits and looking tired. When Lan Zhan saw Mother, he stopped, and Yanli could see from his face that he knew.
Something to know about Mother: she despised losing. She claimed to do everything for her children, but Yanli had long since understood that the definition of “her children” was as constant as the wind. Had Wei Ying told Lan Zhan the humiliating corners of their childhood, their mother's poison? Had he told how Wei Ying had protected Jiang Cheng by fighting back and Jiang Cheng had protected Wei Ying by being obedient; how Yanli had tried to shrink herself as small as possible?
Perhaps Mother never saw Wei Ying as her own son. He was their father's, after all. How many times had Yanli told Wei Ying that it wasn’t his fault that Mother was on a crusade to prove that her own son was better at science (he wasn’t), better at sports (he wasn’t), better at school (well, yes, because Wei Ying worked for a summer to pay for Jiang Cheng’s private lessons; he said that Jiang Cheng had to get into the university of Beijing, and when Yanli had asked what he wanted, Wei Ying had only shrugged). It was a constant humiliation for Jiang Cheng, and a constant punishment for Wei Ying. For Yanli’s relief, she didn’t fit in the situation. It was a boys' fight, conducted by a woman.
Mother was good at that.
And now she saw a threat. The wrong son had a family.
What else could she do but attack?
"Oh, a friend of Wei Ying. That’s more than I expected."
Lan Zhan only nodded as a greeting.
"Look closely, A-Cheng. That's how you should wear a suit."
Jiang Cheng just stared at the window with his arms crossed. It was funny how a man of thirty-five could behave around his mother.
"Well," Mother said as the silence stretched. "Wei Ying decided to finally go, didn't he? If he had done so earlier, we would have been spared from a lot of fuss."
The teapot froze in Yanli’s hands. Jiang Cheng stared at Mother. But Mother only looked at Lan Zhan – and Lan Zhan didn't react.
Mother pursed her lips and crossed her legs.
"A friend of his, I see. And the friend has a son.” This blow was aimed at Yanli, even though Mother didn't look in her direction.
Now Lan Zhan spoke.
"This is Wei Ying's son.” His voice was no longer soft and gentle like before, but sharp as ice. "And as you know, Madam Yu, I'm not merely his friend. It's about time to acknowledge that."
Mother smiled dangerously. Yanli poured the tea with gentle movements, as if the room would explode if she made too much noise.
"So, Wei Ying's child," Mother said. "Poor boy."
Little Yuan drank the juice Yanli had offered him. He seemed aware that they were talking about him. Beside him, Lan Zhan stared at Mother, and it was a miracle that the look alone didn’t end her. Instead, it only made Mother smile more.
"But what a fortunate situation this is for him, after all... To be raised by one father is certainly better than having two of them."
The table jolted as Lan Zhan stood up. In a second, Jiang Cheng jumped up as well, knocking his chair to the floor. They glared at each other like two pheasants ready to claw each other's eyes out. Yanli spilled the hot water on her hand, but the burning pain was nothing compared to the burning shame her family made her feel. She wanted to run back into the kitchen and hide.
"Would you… would you like something to eat?" she asked and tried to smile, but she could as well have been invisible.
"Let's calm down, Lan Zhan, shall we," said Jiang Cheng, although neither of them did anything to actually do so.
Mother smiled with her teeth.
"What will become of the child now?" she asked, leaning against the sofa.
"Lan Zhan's family in Suzhou is taking care of Yuan and him for a while," said Yanli, because she didn't think Lan Zhan wanted to talk. "Then they’ll go back to Shanghai, I think."
"They will? So you have custody of the child, Lan Zhan?"
That was it; Mother had found what she was looking for. Horror crept up Yanli’s spine, because for a brief second, she could see fear in Lan Zhan’s eyes.
"Ohh," said Mother, as if she had found gold in her backyard. "So you want to separate this poor child from his rightful family? Is that so?"
"A-Yuan," Lan Zhan said, quietly. He hid his distress admirably well. "Let's go to see the grave."
Mother was not finished.
"You said he was Wei Ying's son, didn't you? I wonder if the officials will let a single man like you keep him now!"
But Lan Zhan had already left with his son. Yanli realised that her hands were still holding the teapot, and how it was a miracle she hadn't dropped it on the floor.
*
Old katsura trees stood on the cemetery, their leaves sighing softly. She had taken off her shoes so she could go faster. In the distance, she could see Lan Zhan standing in front of the new, delicate gravestone, and Yuan sitting on the ground, studying the incense burned there.
She tried to think of something to say. I'm sorry. I should have said something. I'm sorry. Don't mind my mother, she's all talk and zero action.
But that wasn't true. Her mother was all talk and all action, and that terrified her the most.
She almost shouted her apology from afar, but stopped abruptly. When the lazy wind blew the shadow out of Lan Zhan’s face, she could see tears in his eyes.
He still looked like a statue, even more so than before. His eyes seemed to be fixed on a thought, or perhaps a memory. On the ground, Yuan glanced up, and when he saw the tears, his face crumbled and he said: "Father..?"
His voice was so concerned that it made Yanli's heart ache. She started to take a step forward, but then Lan Zhan kneeled down – he didn't seem to care if it ruined his slacks – and opened his arms so that Yuan could throw himself in the embrace. They stayed like that for a while. Yuan patted his father's hair gently, said words so soft that Yanli couldn't hear them. Was it in the boy's nature or was he just doing what he had seen others do? Either way, the sight made Yanli shed a few tears.
Just as she decided to turn around and leave them alone, Yuan noticed her.
"Aunt Yanli!"
He waved at her, and Yanli forced herself to wave back. At the same time, Lan Zhan let go of Yuan, and although Yuan seemed reluctant to leave his father, he ran towards Yanli.
"Come! Look what I burned! It's for Dad!"
She took Yanli's hand and led her to the grave. There were flowers and burned incense. It didn’t feel like it was enough. Yanli had held the joss stick during the drive to the burial, carefully lighting it again and again. Still, she felt that she had done it all wrong, that Wei Ying’s soul had not been given a proper funeral; that she had once again failed to say goodbye.
"I wish Dad could buy a phone there. He liked his phone, and he liked his music. He’d like to have music even now…" Yuan spoke easily, but he kept glancing at his father, as if he was afraid that he would collapse.
"That's very thoughtful," Yanli said. Yuan let go of her finger, and Yanli felt somehow cold without it.
Lan Zhan had stood up, grass on his knees, his eyes slightly red but once again unreadable.
"I must apologise," Yanli began, but despite her earlier attempts, she couldn't find the right words.
This time the silence between them was bitter. Suddenly Yanli realised that she had started all wrong. Lan Zhan didn't need pity or encouragement. Honesty was what he wanted. It was what he deserved.
So she asked: "Do you have the custody?"
Lan Zhan looked at the child who was now admiring an old willow tree. He was quiet for a long time.
"Your mother wasn’t wrong," he finally said.
It wasn't what Yanli had wanted to hear.
"The judgment is in making," Lan Zhan said. "I'm not sure what to expect. I'm not related to my son."
Yanli felt knives turning in her heart.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Lan Zhan was quiet for a while. Yanli already knew that he was the kind of man who always thought before he spoke, because he only spoke honest words. What an opposite to Wei Ying's spontaneous babbling. Or perhaps only the missing piece, the observant listener that Wei Ying had always needed.
"Yes," he answered. His voice was calm, his eyes heavy with melancholy. "If you get custody of Yuan, please let me see him."
"Of course," Yanli said, even though she was on the verge of tears. "Of course."
As they walked back, it started to rain. A blessing! Yanli needed fresh air.
”I have a wish,” Lan Zhan said.
They crossed the street without haste, regardless of the rain.
"Tell me."
”I would like to be called Wei Ying's husband.”
It surprised Yanli, though she could have expected it.
”Yes, I think he would like that too,” she said. “He was a rebel, after all.”
”He taught me to speak. He liberated me.”
She wondered if love was exactly that. Freedom. It was so lucky, so very lucky to love and to be loved in return.
“Right,” Yanli said, more to herself. “He always wanted to do the impossible, didn’t he?”
”And he did.” Lan Zhan nodded thoughtfully. “We had our own ceremony.”
When? Yanli wanted to ask, but once again the shame burned her ears. The shame; her absence from her brother’s life.
She’d read once that humans had three instincts in a threatening situation: to fight, to flee or to freeze. Wei Ying had often chosen to fight. He spoke for himself and for anyone who needed it. He had only fled when fighting was no longer possible. Jiang Cheng, he too sometimes chose to fight – to attack – but usually he would freeze, as he had when Wei Ying had demanded justice. That was Jiang Cheng: do nothing when something happens, and then cry about it afterwards.
Yanli, she fled.
When Lan Zhan had come into their life and his and Wei Ying's relationship had upset their parents, Yanli hadn’t known whose side to take. But was that really true? Maybe she just didn't want to act. And now she understood that the decision not to act was itself an act, an act of ignorance.
Maybe, somehow, Yanli had expected Wei Ying to prioritise their family, their reputation, but she should have known better. Yes, Mother had told Wei Ying never to come back. Yes, Wei Ying had said he would rather die than come back (as he had, in the end). And yet, the deep hurt they had caused him had not become apparent until a week later, when she had realised he really was gone, that he had left the town without a word, abandoning her like a short summer that died without a warning. She’d stood at Wei Ying’s door and rung the doorbell fifty-three times, before being forced to admit that it was too late to say goodbye.
But it hadn’t been too late. Only now it was too late. Only now it was too late!
The sudden thought strangled her.
She’d had time. She could have gone to Shanghai. She could have found him! What had she been doing for fifteen years?
”It was a small ceremony, witnessed only by a few people and katsura trees,” Lan Zhan said as if he wanted to say: You didn't miss anything.
This good man with a gentle voice was about to lose his whole family. And what did he do? Offered such kind words to Yanli, of all people. Yanli couldn’t look him in the eye.
"Why did you come to see my family?" she asked. "You should have stayed in Suzhou."
"Your family is Yuan's family as well. It's something I cannot change."
"I truly wish you could."
Someone touched her hand. She smiled when she saw Yuan. The child took both of their hands and started to swing between them. Yanli staggered at his weight, but even if Yuan weighed a thousand pounds, she would never have let go.
*
"A-Cheng."
"Where did you go? Why didn't you answer your phone?"
"Why is Mother still here?"
Their whispers were loud in the quiet kitchen. Jiang Cheng shrugged.
"Tell her to leave yourself. You don't have the guts, do you?"
"I promised to Lan Zhan she’d be gone by now," Yanli said. Anxiety raised in her chest.
"Lan Zhan can leave if he doesn't like it here. I don't care," said Jiang Cheng, who, as always, cared very much.
"You don't understand what he's going through."
“They were together for what? Fifteen years? I have known A-Ying for thirty-five years!”
“Have you?" Yanli’s voice felt like a knife. “You don't have a single photograph of him during the past fifteen years, do you? Or a picture of Lan Zhan, who is now sitting there afraid that we will take his son away from him!”
"You don't owe him anything."
"Maybe not, but I do owe A-Ying everything," she said, not bothering to whisper anymore. She stepped forward to poke her brother in the chest. "And so do you. And now we owe his son everything."
Jiang Cheng let out a noise that sounded a bit like a dying animal. With a movement so sharp it didn’t register in Yanli’s mind, he picked up the salad bowl in which he had so carefully chopped the cabbage and the almonds, the cucumber and the onion, and smashed it to the floor. The sound echoed around the room, leaving them in a haze. Shards of glass and vinegar flew in the air like the rain beating against the window. Yanli covered her face.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Jiang Cheng staring at the floor, looking lost, before he stormed out of the room.
She could have run after him, but she had learned something from Lan Zhan: sometimes you had to be strong for someone else. So she went to the small living room where her mother was still drinking tea and Lan Zhan was standing awkwardly near the door.
"I'm sorry," Yanli said. "The dinner is spoiled. I left it outside the fridge."
"On the table? In this heat?" her mother said.
"Let's have dinner another day, Mother."
"No wonder you can't keep a man."
"Lan Zhan," Yanli said. "You can take A-Yuan to Wei Ying's room. He must be exhausted."
"Little boy," Mother greeted, "come here, let me see you."
Even though Lan Zhan looked like he would rather cut his arm off, he didn't stop Yuan from going. And being the polite young man he was, Yuan obeyed, bowing slightly as he stopped in front of Mother, who was studying him. Yanli felt the urge to take Yuan away from her.
"Mother, I apologise, but you should go. You must be tired too."
"I'm not leaving until we sort this out," Mother said. "The boy stays here."
"You're right, he'll stay here for a few days," Yanli said. "And then he’ll go home."
Mother touched Yuan’s cheek and hair and smiled. It was a warm smile, a smile that made Yanli oddly jealous.
"My only grandchild. Do you realise, Yanli, dear, that this is my only grandchild?"
Yuan took a step away from Mother, his eyes distressed. When Mother tried to take his hand, he ran back to his father, who picked him up.
"My only grandchild!” Mother stood up. “Three children and only one grandchild to continue the family –"
"So now A-Ying is suddenly your son, is that so?" Yanli asked. She surprised Mother, but even more herself. "Even though you have never bothered to visit him during these fifteen years?"
"But Yanli, dear, what are you saying?"
The shame and anger that had been boiling inside Yanli now burned hot.
"This child has never known his family, and that’s because of you. Are you not ashamed to even touch him?"
"How dare you talk to me like that?"
"I’m simply stating the truth," she said, just as Lan Zhan had taught her.
"Under my roof –"
"No, Mother. This is my home. And to be honest, I don't want you here."
Her mother stared at her. That look had controlled Yanli for over thirty years, but she didn't want Lan Zhan to see her hiding. Not anymore.
"What a lack of respect," her mother said. "I got you this apartment."
"Yes," Yanli said. "Yes, because I used to be too weak to refuse your pathetic attempts to be a mother. Please, leave."
The silence was so heavy it could have crushed them all. Mother looked utterly shocked. Jiang Cheng, who had been listening to the argument from another door, stared at Yanli with eyes bigger than plates.
Yanli felt as if she had breathed air for the first time in years.
"And now," she said, reaching out for Yuan, who was clinging to his father’s neck. "Come, let's have some ice cream. It's raining outside. It's a beautiful day."
*
After the rain, the air was new. A gentle evening breeze caressed her hair as they stood on the balcony. They didn't talk much. Lan Zhan looked down at the lights glimmering on the wet street, bright red and yellow glowing in the buildings below. The sounds of the traffic filled the air.
Maybe it was the aftershock of meeting their mother, maybe it was the beautiful evening – Yanli didn't know. But Lan Zhan shifted slightly and said with his soft voice: ”In fact, I have something for you.”
”For me?”
”From Wei Ying.”
Yanli didn’t know what she was expected to say. She could sense some kind of distress in him.
He went inside and came back with a small cardboard box that was tied up with a ribbon. Yanli took it carefully in her hands.
There were letters inside.
”They are addressed to you.” Lan Zhan didn’t meet her eyes. “He even bought stamps. Some of them are dated as long as twelve years ago. He never sent them, and I thought I would keep them myself to respect his decision, but I think… I think he wanted you to get them, even if he was too afraid to do it."
This time, her tears were not of grief but something fragile, like the last days of summer, or the melancholy of looking at old photos and realising that this moment too will fade, just like the love that was lost in the passing of time.
She opened her mouth and let the words pour out like a dam that had been cracked open.
"I'm sorry, Lan Zhan," she said. "I'm sorry I don't have a photo of Yuan on my shelf, I'm sorry I’ve never sent him a birthday card. I'm sorry I don't know how you met Wei Ying, or even what you do for a living… I'm sorry for breaking his heart. And I'm sorry – I never said goodbye."
Her whole body trembled. As she let the tears flow, it felt as if they were washing away some of the shame.
"I was trapped, I was – I don't know… I don't know! I have no excuses, not anymore."
Fifteen years was a long time. There was lot to learn. So much that to even begin to open it all felt scary.
”You...” Lan Zhan began, but words seemed to have become difficult for him. Maybe he was moved, Yanli realised. Maybe he wanted to speak this time, but he didn't know how. ”If you want… I think it would be all right. To come to the memorial.”
”To the memorial? With your friends? In Shanghai?”
He nodded. Yanli pressed the precious cardboard box to her heart and nodded back. She felt like exploding.
Traffic lights glowed from the streets; green, yellow, red. Trees hummed above them, shedding their leaves like tears.
“When will you return home?” Yanli asked.
Lan Zhan looked down the street, and it was only now that Yanli noticed how he was clutching the balcony railing with white knuckles. His whole body was tense. Under the perfect posture, he looked as if the air was hard to breathe, as if he was suffocating.
This time his voice wasn’t soft as silk or sharp as ice, but wavering and so quiet it almost drowned in the night.
“I don’t know where home is anymore.”
He turned his face away, as if to create distance.
Yanli put down the cardboard box and did something out of line: she pressed her hand on Lan Zhan’s arm and touched his back gently, just like Jiang Cheng did to comfort her. When Lan Zhan didn’t push her away, she laid her head down on his shoulder and breathed in his warmth, his delicate scent, and watched the street lights twinkle around them. She had spent so much time dwelling on her own regret that she had forgotten how much love she still had in her. And though she assumed that Lan Zhan felt a different kind of loss than she, perhaps purer, perhaps sharper, it was certainly just as devouring, just as complete.
“I have lost my words,” Lan Zhan whispered. Then again, as if he allowed himself to say it for the first time: “I have lost my words.”
Words. They needed some time.
“Let me tell you," Yanli said. The wind echoed her whisper, carrying it to the old willow tree near the balcony. "It will be an ordinary day. You will open a window and you will remember. At the moment you least expect it, you’ll hear your own voice in the crisp spring air and it will be so beautiful it will make you weep. You’ll be surprised at the strength you’ll find within yourself. And you'll take your son by the hand and lead him to the katsura trees, and you will remember. For the day will come when the words will return, and then you will return home.”
Lan Zhan’s uneven breathing could only mean reluctant tears. Good. Tears purified the heart like the rain purifies the air.
The world came flooding back as she heard the door slam. Jiang Cheng had returned.
"Jie?" The muffled voice came through the balcony door. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you want to know what I had to endure? You –"
Yanli looked apologetically at Lan Zhan and opened the narrow door. The lights were too bright. Jiang Cheng stood in the middle of the apartment in his dark suit. The skin on his cheek was red with a bruise. He looked furious.
"Why do I always have to suffer from things you and Wei Ying do?"
"Hush, you'll wake up A-Yuan."
"I drove Mother to the other side of the town. Look at my face, look at it!"
Yanli didn't want the evening to turn into a shouting competition. However, she had tasted power, and she had rather liked it.
"I know," she said, "and I'm sorry. But please stop taking your anger out on others."
"Why are you suddenly being so disrespectful? Did that man teach you how to be rude?"
"His name is Lan Zhan."
"What do I care?" Jiang Cheng tore his tie from his neck so fast it was a miracle it didn’t break. “He is the reason for this!" He slammed his fist to the sofa. It only let out a small thump.
Only then did he seem to notice that Lan Zhan was present. He swayed a little; either he was embarrassed and didn't want to show it, or he was so full of rage that he was shaking.
"You – You realise, don’t you, that you have broken our family?"
"A-Cheng –"
"Let me speak!" He pointed at Lan Zhan with a shaking finger. "Do you realise – We were always together, he defended me from – from – and he said, he said I would make it into the Beijing University and he promised to come and see me…"
Maybe he had been drinking. That would explain the swaying. And the stuttering.
As always, Lan Zhan took the insults with a stern face. Was it because he was tired, or because he was so used to being insulted?
"Stop it, A-Cheng," Yanli said in a quiet voice. "He has been through enough."
"He? How can I know what he’s been through when Wei Ying has never told me anything about him? How can I know what his son looks like when he has never given me the chance to see him? Tell me!”
“We abandoned him!”
“I never did!” Jiang Cheng’s voice broke. “I never did! He abandoned me! I didn’t know where he was! I couldn’t call him! I tried to look for him, but I thought he hated me, I thought he never wanted to see me anymore!”
That was exactly what Yanli had thought for fifteen years. But she had the cardboard box pressed against her chest, and that told her a different story.
“You tried to find him?”
“And did he give me the chance to do that? He left me to face Mother alone.” He stood in the middle of the room, face red, eyes blank, a tie in his fist. He seemed to speak to no one at all. Maybe he was talking to himself. “I took the duty, so he didn’t have to. What else should I have done? What else could I have done?"
"Doesn’t matter anymore,” Yanli said, her voice trembling just a little. “We lost him because we didn’t care about his happiness."
"I bet he was happier than neither of us ever. So don't throw that argument at me."
At that moment, Yanli felt a sharp pity for him, her little brother.
Because she understood him. Wei Ying had been brave enough to free himself from this prison. A prison of fear and shame. Instead: freedom. A son, a good husband. So many friends that they didn't even fit in his flat.
Yes, Yanli could understand.
"Do you think I don't miss him?" Jiang Cheng said, gradually, as if he had to spit the words out of his mouth one by one to be able to say them. "Do you really think that, during these fifteen years, I haven't missed him more than anything?"
And so they were said, the words that had been left unspoken. The words had been there so long that they had started to rot.
Lan Zhan's voice broke the silence.
"You did what you thought was right at the moment. It doesn't erase the hurt."
The words, like a slap in the face, like a storm that purified the earth.
*
In the end, there were a few things Yanli knew for certain.
Standing alone on her balcony, she picked up her phone and called a contact she had named: Jin Zixuan the lawyer!! Sound clever!!!
"Zixuan? Do you happen to have a moment?"
"Yanli! I’ll always have a moment for you."
"Do you know how to handle custody issues?"
"Custody issues?” She could hear the surprise in Jin Zixuan’s voice. “Not my area of expertise, but I can contact people if you want. What's the problem?” The line was silent for a moment. “Yanli?"
"Tell me, Zixuan, do you ever dream of love?"
The silence told her she had completely confused the poor man.
"Uh…"
"To love and be loved as you are?"
"Well, that would be nice, I guess."
"Didn't you say that you’d like to travel? To see Europe and South America? The birds, the narrow cobbled streets of Italy, the sea full of ultramarine and turquoise?"
"I did, yes, but… what exactly does this have to do with custody issues?"
“No, no… It’s about our engagement.”
She only heard Jin Zixuan’s breathing. She felt the urge to flee, to leave the issue behind and do what she was supposed to do. It was easy to do what the world wanted you to do. What really required courage was to be free, to be like Wei Ying and Lan Zhan.
She breathed.
"I like you, Zixuan, but don't you think our engagement is a little too rapid? You want to see the world, and even though you are too polite to show it, I can see the regret in your eyes when our families start talking about our family to-be. And I, well, I already have a sort of family to look after for now."
"But your mother said –"
"My mother can say what she pleases. And she pleases a lot more than she should." It felt good to say that. "I've started to understand that an awful lot of things she says are actually not true at all. We're not old, Zixuan, you and me… We have time to think things through."
"I guess you have a point."
"I hope that doesn't offend you."
"No, no… Someone had to say it. And you are the braver one."
"Zixuan…"
"I'll find you a good lawyer, Yanli. I'll make them work hard for you. And, uh, it's not my business, but if you don't mind me asking… Do you… have a child, or..?"
This made Yanli laugh. It was a laugh of tension and relief, of the love that she felt towards Jin Zixuan at that very moment.
"Hopefully not… Hopefully not!"
"Oh, Yanli, are you crying? I'm sorry, I –"
“You’ll make them work hard for Lan Zhan? For Wei Ying’s… for Wei Ying’s husband?”
“Oh? Your..? Oh, I see. Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I? I’ll make them work extra hard.”
"You are a good man, Zixuan, you know that?"
As they said goodbye, Yanli felt joy so overwhelming she couldn’t even comprehend it. She might marry Zixuan one day. Or not. Both options were good. And whatever happened, she knew she had a friend, a lawyer who might not be the sharpest, but he had a good heart, and that was what mattered most.
The summer evening tasted of spices. She breathed it. She was made of it. The familiar melancholy filled her as she watched people cross the street below her balcony. She wondered if the sadness would ever be gone. Maybe not. It was a part of her life, the regret, the longing, just as much as this evening, the traffic lights and the whispering trees. There were words she had lost, perhaps for good. And she knew that the years that were gone, were gone for good. They didn't kiss her goodbye anymore, only left her hollow.
But there were years to come, summers to live. There was a child who needed his aunt; and an aunt who needed her nephew. Sometimes that was enough. It certainly was for her.
She saw that her mother was calling her. She didn’t answer. She picked up Lan Zhan’s number and for once the summer air didn’t weigh on her shoulders but instead filled her with warmth.
“Yes, the train will be there by Friday evening. Oh, does he? Tell him I miss him too! I’ll bring him soup, and the best sweets from Wuhan!”