MW CH49

Chapter 49: Thinking of You Every Day

Early June, coastal temps hit 30°C—but Jizhu Temple, nestled in the bamboo sea, stayed cool. Good thing, too—Aunt Wan’s haul of offerings, big bags and small, would’ve drenched us in sweat hauling them up otherwise.

“Back in the day, your mom and I were in the same hospital ward waiting to pop. I knew Bai Qifeng was trash right off. Old Yan camped by my side after work—slept at the hospital those last days. Bai Qifeng? Ghost. Your grandparents handled everything when you were born—he was AWOL…” Aunt Wan, fifty-something, still bounded up like a kid, fanning herself with a sandalwood fan, pausing at the rest platform for me.

“Everyone knew he was a dud—except Mom liked him. What’s that say? Too much gourmet, so she craved a bite of crap to reset her gut…” I hit the platform, dumped the bags, grabbed the water Aunt Wan offered, and chugged.

She snapped her fan shut, tapped my head. “Hey, watch it—that’s still your mom. Bai Qifeng’s crap, sure, but he chipped in something.”

Handed the bottle back, puzzled. “What’d he chip in?”

She zipped her backpack, slung it on, started off. “You! No him, no you.” Pinched my cheek, then bolted ahead, leaving me in the dust.

I stared after her, stunned, then cracked up.

Last time I saw Jiang Xuehan? Can’t recall. Thought life was long—even without meeting, we’d each muddle through fine. Who knew it’s so fragile—she’s gone, just a cold wooden tablet now.

Hope she’s hit her paradise—no more worldly woes.

Used to resent her, hate her, blame her. One night on that snow mountain shifted me—calmed me. Too much in this world worth caring about; the useless stuff? Let it go.

Stuck the incense in the burner, stepped back.

Aunt Wan took my spot, holding hers—not silent like me, plenty to say to Jiang Xuehan. “Alive, you ignored your son for twenty years. Now you’re gone, I’ll assume you’ve hit Buddhahood—bless him, smooth his career, help him find someone to share life with. I’ll count to three—silence means yes. One, two, three. Good! Deal’s set.” She plunked the incense in, chipper.

Half-laughed, half-touched. Jiang Xuehan’s tiny tablet didn’t faze me—this did, nose stinging out of nowhere.

Didn’t tell Yan Chuwen’s folks about nearly dying on the mountain—spared them worry since I’m fine. Smart call, looking back.

Packed up the candles and offerings—one bag each, me and Aunt Wan headed down.

“Auntie, I’m craving your Dongpo pork.”

“Sure thing—market stop later, I’ll cook you a feast. You look thinner from a month at Chuwen’s—your wrists seem smaller…”

Sunlight streamed, breeze rustled the bamboo, golden flecks dancing on our shoulders.

Last time I left here, I was freezing, aching—life felt done. This time? Ice melted, spring bloomed—no hurdle I can’t clear.

Missed Mochuan bad—wanted to bolt back to Cuoyansong after a few days in Haicheng. But studio work piled up, hiring’s a slog—interviews flopped, time dragged.

“Boss, we’re out!” Lin Vivian tapped my office door.

Checked my screen—past seven. “Yeah, happy weekend—see you Monday.”

She peeked at my iced Americano as she shut the door. “Boss, downstairs coffee again? How many cups a day? Watch out—won’t sleep.”

Near-death, that Americano was on my wish list. Back in Haicheng, it’s daily at the studio—treated the team for a month. They’re over it; I’m not—one cup, every day.

“Caffeine-proof— theirs won’t keep me up. Don’t worry.” I grinned.

She shrugged, unconvinced, closed the door.

My office light stayed on—rest went dark. Minutes later, just me in the big space.

Not leaving wasn’t workaholism—home or here, same deal. Might as well grind files, get back to Mochuan sooner.

Ordered roast duck rice—waiting, I texted him: What’re you up to?

No reply—probably ignored his phone or it’s dead. Dialed his landline.

Rang a bunch—picked up, not him.

“Hello?”

Younger voice. This late, in his room? Only one kid fits besides Li Yang.

“Little Kite?”

Mochuan said the kids’ summer break was soon—I’d joked we’d need to sneak around. Didn’t expect He Nanyuan today.

“Who’re you?”

“Bai Yin—your uncle’s friend. We talked when he was silent, remember?”

“Oh, you.” He Nanyuan’s tone—ice. “What’s up?”

“Where’s your uncle?”

“Showering.”

“Showering? I’ll call back.”

“I can pass a message.”

“Hmm…” Paused. “Nah, I’ll tell him myself.”

“Trouble.” He muttered, switched to Xia. “That’s it—bye.” Hung before I could bond.

Checked my phone, laughed. “Kid, I heard that.”

Grabbed takeout downstairs, opened it—figured half an hour, Mochuan’s done showering. Redialed.

Quick pickup—his voice, familiar relief.

“Finally.” I exhaled.

“You called earlier? Was showering.” Rustling—him toweling his hair, maybe.

“Your nephew didn’t tell you?”

“Qia Gu? Nope.”

Little punk…

“Tch— you badmouth me to him?” Chopped rice into my mouth, chatting.

He chuckled. “Told you—he doesn’t like Xia folk.”

“Put in a good word sometime—show him I’m not those Haicheng jerks.” Spat a bone. “Saw him as a kid—napping on his mom’s back, like a little gourd.”

Mochuan paused. “Don’t let him hear that—good words won’t save you.”

“Wouldn’t say it to his face…”

Chatted more—work, news, weird interviewees. Hour flew—his bedtime.

“Sleep—I’m heading out.” Spun my chair, gazed at the clear night sky outside, soft.

He hummed, didn’t hang.

“…When’re you back?”

A month of daily calls—first time he asked. Held it in long, couldn’t anymore.

Yeah—fresh love, then split apart? Rough.

“Another month—August.” Softer. “Miss me?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

No pause: “Every day.”

Phone hot—or my face? Never felt long-distance this raw, this hard.

Missed him bad—since leaving, aching to return. His hugs, kisses, warmth—body in Haicheng, heart lost in Cuoyansong, calling my soulless shell back to merge.

Shut the computer, walked out. “August 1st—I’m back. Booking the ticket now.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Thought. “Lie, and I’ll… abstain a month.”

---

[Dear passenger Bai Yin, we regret to inform you: due to typhoon weather, your August 1st flight MU6957 from Haicheng to Shannan is canceled…]

Night before takeoff—flight axed.

Heard typhoon rumors days back—thought it’d pass. Slapped hard.

Panicked, scoured flights—Haicheng to anywhere, reroute to Shannan. Nope—all grounded.

Missing Cuoyansong? Abstinence is whatever—breaking my word to Mochuan’s the real hit.

He’s counting days—how could I let him down on the last one?

Brainstormed—flights out, trains still ran. Snagged a ticket to Xianshi—leave now, fly from there tomorrow.

Late, but I’d hit August 1st.

[Flight’s canceled—might not make the 1st.] Texted Mochuan, grabbed my suitcase, bolted.

Haicheng to Xianshi—post-6 p.m., no bullet trains, just slow green ones. Fourteen hours.

Overnight ride—9 a.m. Xianshi, catch the 12:45 flight, two-hour layover, 8 p.m. Shannan, cab to Pengge—10 p.m., doable.

Home’s near the station, but rain plus rush hour screwed me. Traffic glowed red—bailed, ran to the subway, barely made the gate with minutes to spare.

On the train, slumped on my suitcase, panting—didn’t hunt my seat yet.

Phone buzzed—Mochuan.

“Hey?” Stood, dragged my bag to find my spot.

“Not back the 1st—when then?” Slow, calm.

“When the typhoon clears—force majeure, not breaking my word, right?” Strolled the aisle, loud, not caring who heard. “Two months abstinent—don’t wanna add another.”

If I spilled the train-plane slog—twenty-plus hours—he’d tell me to wait it out. Didn’t want him waiting—kept it a surprise.

“Your head’s all lust.” Cool, but indulgent.

Laughed. “Hey—ask any twenty-something guy who’s gone two months without even a hand? Godly one, us normies are filthier than you think. Oh—got gifts this time.” Pictured the suitcase “treasures,” licked my lips. “You’ll like ‘em.”