Translator: Lynn
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Miller descended the stairs ahead of Cheng Ke, while he took the time to erase the less-than-impressive artwork on the sand painting platform. Fortunately, his non-dominant hand’s work had an abstract touch to it. If he had used his right hand…
He then ascended to the third-floor bathroom, where he washed his face to regain his composure. Upon returning downstairs, Miller introduced him to their new receptionist, Huihui. Most of the discussions with the guests were complete, with only a few details requiring his confirmation.
After settling these details, the guest paid the advance payment and left. Cheng Ke took a seat at the table, attentively listening as Miller and Huihui finalized the remaining preparations. Soon, they moved on to the topic of making wine.
“Should we make our own wine?” Cheng Ke inquired.
“Brother Xu mentioned we can procure some in small quantities. We could offer beer, fruit wine, or even self-brewed wine to our guests,” Miller suggested enthusiastically. “It could be a fun experience. If guests want to try brewing themselves, we can provide the materials and store their creations here for them to enjoy later.”
“Sounds good,” Cheng Ke agreed.
He remained mostly silent as Miller and Huihui discussed the details, with Huihui taking the lead. It seemed she had a passion for brewing.
Then, Cheng Ke hesitated for a moment before addressing Huihui, “Um, Huihui.”
“What’s on your mind, Brother Cheng?” Huihui inquired, her gaze focused on him.
“Have you… ever brewed strawberry wine?” Cheng Ke asked.
“I’ve tried my hand at it. I’ve experimented with almost every ingredient you can use in winemaking,” Huihui replied. She turned to Miller and suggested, “Let’s add a strawberry batch this time.”
“Could you teach me?” Cheng Ke inquired. “I’d like to give it a try.”
“Are you interested in brewing or just drinking?” Huihui asked with a hint of amusement. “If it’s for drinking, I can make it for you. Or you can buy a bottle; it’s a bit of a hassle otherwise.”
“I plan to give it as a gift,” Cheng Ke explained.
He intended to give it to someone who had disappeared without a trace and didn’t know when or if he would return.
Eight days after Jiang Yuduo’s escape, Cheng Ke decided to distract himself by experimenting with various winemaking techniques. He sat on the floor, facing Meow, who seemed oddly interested in the process.
Before him lay a basket of strawberries, a bag of rock sugar, a bottle of wine, a bottle of fruit wine yeast, and several packets of fruit wine yeast. Cheng Ke had recently purchased the strawberries and rock sugar from a nearby supermarket. Huihui had kindly given him the yeast, and he’d ordered the brewing bottle online. The bottle, meant for storing the finished wine, had been a gift from Xu Ding, sourced from a fellow glass enthusiast. Its design was simple and elegantly round.
With all the ingredients and equipment at hand, he was ready to begin his winemaking experiment. Cheng Ke chuckled as he read the instructions provided by Huihui on his phone.
“Wash the strawberries, remove the stems, and then dry them,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve grown up all these years, and aside from learning to cook instant noodles and eggs, I’ve never tackled such an advanced task as winemaking.”
He picked up a strawberry, squeezed it, and offered it to Meow. “Would you like some?”
Meow sniffed the fruit, then extended its paw to grab the strawberry, eagerly munching away. The cat seemed entirely absorbed in its eating, closing one eye as it savored the fruit, its chin fur drenched in strawberry juice.
“Do cats even eat strawberries?” Cheng Ke mused, his voice tinged with surprise. “Does your San-ge know you’re this much of a glutton?”
Meow paid him no mind, focusing solely on its snack.
Cheng Ke soon lost interest in conversation, feeling increasingly lonely. Chatting with a cat about its owner felt particularly forlorn, especially when the cat showed no signs of responding, engrossed only in devouring strawberries.
Like a cat, he thought, as long as you’re here, I’m here; when you’re gone, I’m gone. If you return, I’ll wrap my tail around your ankle; if you don’t, I’ll indulge in the strawberries you’ve provided.
It took him quite some time to wash and dry the strawberries, and his left hand had grown stiff. He had initially contemplated leaving the stems on but was worried that they might be toxic. In the end, he bit off every strawberry stem with his teeth.
Cheng Ke then followed the memorized instructions, placing the stemmed strawberries into the brewing bottle. Ten pounds of strawberries and two pounds of sugar went in, and he activated the yeast with warm, sugary water. Finally, he crushed the strawberries, donned gloves, and carefully pushed them into the bottle.
Outside the kitchen window, there was a small open space where a three-and-a-half-year-old child was merrily riding a small toy car, singing to himself.
Cheng Ke watched the child with a sense of mild astonishment. He wasn’t particularly fond of children, but this three-and-a-half-year-old was undeniably adorable and not at all bothersome. Plus, there was another reason—he associated this child with Jiang Yuduo.
In a way, this child was linked to Jiang Yuduo because Jiang Yuduo often mentioned him.
After crushing and soaking the strawberries for the wine, Cheng Ke placed the bottle near the radiator to start the fermentation process.
Now, all that was left to do was wait.
He would wait for the strawberry wine to finish brewing.
He would wait for the man who would drink that strawberry wine to return.
—
The sunlight streamed brightly, casting Jiang Yuduo in a warm glow as he sat in a chair by the window. His eyes were struggling to stay open.
“How have you been feeling lately?” Sister Luo sat across from him at a small table.
“I’m doing alright,” Jiang Yuduo replied. “My sleep has been relatively normal. I managed to fall asleep without medication yesterday.”
“This is the music you wanted,” Sister Luo placed an MP3 player on the table. “I’ve stored it here, and I can change it for you if you get tired of it.”
“Thank you,” Jiang Yuduo said, taking the MP3 player and plugging in the earphones to listen.
“I didn’t buy cigarettes for you this time, but I’ll bring them next time I come,” Sister Luo said with a smile. “Is Dr. Li advising you to smoke less?”
“Yes,” Jiang Yuduo replied, holding up four fingers. “I promised him, just four cigarettes a day.”
“Do you think you can stick to that?” Sister Luo inquired.
“Yes,” Jiang Yuduo affirmed. “These are nothing… Would you like to take a walk with me in the courtyard?”
“Sure,” Sister Luo agreed, rising from her seat.
As they strolled into the courtyard, Jiang Yuduo noticeably relaxed. Hospitals, of any kind, had always been unsettling for him. He had never imagined that he would one day voluntarily request to live in one.
Until yesterday, he had struggled to fall asleep without medication, even spending the first two nights perched on the edge of the bed.
Dr. Li had talked to him about his fear of hospitals.
There were many things he preferred not to dwell on, yet he had no choice but to confront the part of his memories that remained vivid but had been forcibly suppressed, now impossible to recall.
He made the decision to admit himself to the hospital, to reopen that wound, and to accept that this was a memory that would accompany him for the rest of his life. He knew he had to bear the relentless pain that now haunted him every second.
The night after their conversation, he teetered on the edge of consciousness and delusion, unable to distinguish between dreams and reality.
The imagery felt so tangible that it made it difficult for him to breathe.
He found himself in a brightly lit room, filled with chaotic voices and swaying figures. He struggled to turn his head and glimpsed another bed through a half-drawn curtain.
There was a lot of blood.
Doctor Li had told him it was a policeman.
He could no longer recall the face, the features, the height, whether the officer was thin or heavy, his name, or even the tone when he had shouted, “Jiang Yuduo, run, run fast.”
But the blood and the warmth that once protected his body remained etched in his memory.
And that lingering “di–.”
He distinctly felt life slipping away bit by bit because of him.
The harsh overhead lights, the lingering scent of disinfectant, the wavering figures in his bleary vision, the constant “di–” sound of the equipment—all were linked to death because of him, forming an inescapable connection.
He feared these memories, and even more, he feared that there might be another person in that situation.
As the days passed, people he became acquainted with, those who had become part of his daily life, disappeared one by one and never returned, leaving him feeling uneasy and frightened.
When Cheng Ke gradually integrated into his life, he grew anxious, fearing that Cheng Ke would become another person to “disappear.” The realization that he might cause Cheng Ke to truly “disappear” intensified this anxiety.
Cheng Ke, when he was away from him, was safe and wouldn’t vanish. Yet Cheng Ke, once separated from him, left no trace to follow.
“Recently,” Jiang Yuduo walked slowly with Sister Luo along a path in the hospital yard, lit a cigarette, and counted to himself. This was his third one today. “Cheng Ke…has he contacted you?”
“No,” Sister Luo replied. “After I called him that day, he didn’t get in touch again.”
“Did you tell him?” Jiang Yuduo asked.
“Tell him what?” Sister Luo patted his back gently. “Did you tell him where you are? Or that I can’t disclose your whereabouts?”
“I didn’t tell him,” Jiang Yuduo admitted.
“You should tell him,” Sister Luo said.
When Jiang Yuduo heard this, he felt a hint of disappointment, but after a brief pause, he let out a sigh of relief. “So, he wants to find me… but he doesn’t know where to look, right?”
“Yes,” Sister Luo confirmed, smiling. “He was quite concerned about you, so when I mentioned that I couldn’t disclose your location, he seemed a bit frustrated.”
Jiang Yuduo bit his lip.
“I… I don’t want him to see this,” he confessed, his brow furrowing. “I don’t want him to know… how I’ve been treated.”
“I understand,” Sister Luo nodded.
“He only knows I have mental issues,” Jiang Yuduo continued, his lip trembling. “But seeing me in a mental hospital, it’s different.”
Sister Luo offered a reassuring smile. “It’s not as grave as you think.”
“I don’t want him to have such a direct experience,” Jiang Yuduo whispered, “It might frighten him away.”
“He might not react like that,” Sister Luo replied. “You can’t hide everything forever, can you?”
“Tell me,” Jiang Yuduo turned to her, “When I return, will he… have already left?”
“Why do you think that?” Sister Luo inquired.
“I told him to leave if he couldn’t wait,” Jiang Yuduo furrowed his brow, gazing down at the pebbles on the path. He searched for the first one he saw, blinked, and then lost track of it. “He’s from a privileged background, always been so kind…he’s been so kind to me, but this situation…”
“Xiao Jiang,” Sister Luo interrupted, “he mentioned something to me earlier, to pass on to you at the right time.”
“What is it?” Jiang Yuduo eagerly asked.
“Xiao Cheng said he’s not going anywhere,” Sister Luo revealed.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Jiang Yuduo repeated softly.
“Yes,” Sister Luo confirmed.
Jiang Yuduo fell silent for a while, repeating this phrase in his mind. He could picture Cheng Ke’s expression and the tone in which he said it.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
If it hadn’t been for Sister Luo, he might have added, “I’m not going anywhere, damn it.”
Jiang Yuduo smiled.
This was the first time he genuinely wanted to laugh since his silent escape. It wasn’t a forced smile or a strained grin. When he thought of Cheng Ke’s tone, he naturally and instinctively smiled.
Yet tears welled up and trickled down.
He quickly turned his head and wiped his eyes with his hand.
He had developed the ability to switch off tears in an instant when they were unnecessary.
He possessed many such skills born from pain, just like the pain itself, woven into the fabric of his life.
When he turned his head back, he knew that he no longer had any tears left, but he still couldn’t contain those words.
“I miss him so much,” Jiang Yuduo softly confessed, “I miss him terribly.”
“I understand, I understand,” Sister Luo said gently. “Should I convey this to him?”
“No,” Jiang Yuduo raised his gaze and declined firmly, “I don’t want him to pity me, and I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.”
“Alright,” Sister Luo nodded.
On the twentieth day following Jiang Yuduo’s disappearance, Cheng Ke decided to employ a rather audacious strategy.
—
Seated in a small room on the third floor, Cheng Ke faced the window. Today, there were quite a few guests, and an afternoon sand painting performance was scheduled, which might fill up the third floor as well.
Holding his notebook, he typed on the keyboard with his left hand. It took him a while to remember that he now had the use of his right hand.
Habit is indeed a remarkable thing. Just a cast had caused him to temporarily forget the existence of his right hand.
At this moment, he glanced at the calendar and realized why he struggled to adapt to the feeling of loneliness without Jiang Yuduo by his side.
Perhaps the wait had not been long enough.
After reviewing Huihui’s monthly report, he added a few suggestions for improvement, closed the document, and opened another.
This document listed mental hospitals all across the country, complete with their names, addresses, and general information.
Sister Luo couldn’t disclose Jiang Yuduo’s location, which implied that Jiang Yuduo was not with her. Given Jiang Yuduo’s decision, he wouldn’t simply return to Sister Luo. Besides, Sister Luo had mentioned that Jiang Yuduo had undergone various forms of treatment, so Jiang Yuduo, who had been resistant, must have been exposed to many treatment methods.
Cheng Ke believed that Jiang Yuduo had most likely admitted himself to a hospital for treatment again, and this time, he had willingly chosen to go back to the hospital.
Therefore, his goal was likely within the city where Sister Luo was located. After Jiang Yuduo was rescued, the only place he had stayed was there, and there was a reputable hospital in that area.
The reason he meticulously listed all these hospitals was primarily to pass the time.
In his moments of emotional turmoil, he needed something related to Jiang Yuduo to occupy his thoughts.
The strawberry wine was nearing the end of its fermentation process. Huihui had informed him that it would be ready to drink soon, but it would taste even better if left for another two months.
He had also dined with Chen Qing twice and taken Meow for two baths.
Next week, he planned to collect rent with Chen Qing.
He needed to maintain a connection with Jiang Yuduo, ensuring that Jiang Yuduo remained a part of his life, leaving traces and a sense of his presence.
Jiang Yuduo was afraid that Cheng Ke would leave.
And Cheng Ke shared that same fear—that he would depart before Jiang Yuduo could fully recover.
Waiting was not a problem.
He was afraid of the same things Jiang Yuduo was afraid of.
In all his years, he had never felt this way about anyone.
The length of time and the depth of his feelings had surpassed his own understanding of himself.
His fascination with Jiang Yuduo arose from his uniqueness, his personality, his intriguing thoughts, and even from the peculiar way he opened doors…
But what about afterward?
Jiang Yuduo didn’t doubt Cheng Ke’s seriousness; what he feared was change.
Time was cruel to Jiang Yuduo. It made him uneasy.
In the present, he couldn’t fathom the idea of Cheng Ke leaving or disappearing, but he was also afraid of the passage of time.
He dreaded that one day, when Jiang Yu returned, he would no longer be here.
For the first time, he held such great hopes and anxiety about his feelings. Hence, he needed every trace of Jiang Yuduo’s existence.
Even Chen Qing, whom he had previously considered an IQ-challenged tax evader, now brought him comfort.
“How about this?” Chen Qing, who accompanied him for the third rent collection, proposed, “You can handle the rent collection for next month.”
“Huh?” Cheng Ke was taken aback.
“You seem committed to continuing San-ge’s unfinished business,” Chen Qing remarked, “You’ve answered three calls this time, and there’s a lot to handle in the shop. Yet, you still came here to assist me in collecting rent.”
Cheng Ke felt a bit embarrassed. If Chen Qing hadn’t mentioned it, he wouldn’t have realized that he had already collected rent for two months.
“Collecting rent is paying it forward for the business,” he sighed, “Are my career aspirations too low?”
“Don’t be so stubborn,” Chen Qing looked at him. “Just tell me if you want to take over.”
“Okay, I’ll take it,” Cheng Ke agreed.
“That’s great. Honestly, I’ve noticed that collecting rent from you has better results than with San-ge,” Chen Qing commented. “Look at him; he’s the boss around here. I just can’t figure it out. Maybe he’s involved in some shady business; it’s scary.”
“Am I really that scary-looking?” Cheng Ke asked, baffled.
“You’re much scarier,” Chen Qing said. “Ever since the Zhang Daqi incident, our brothers have been won over by you. If you decide to do something now, they’ll follow your lead.”
“I’d rather not poach San-ge’s territory,” Cheng Ke said.
“It’s not poaching if you can’t steal it,” Chen Qing waved his hand dismissively. He then sighed after some contemplation. “Damn, is there still no news about him?”
“No, there isn’t,” Cheng Ke replied, leaning against the nearby wall, feeling a bit down.
It had been three months, and there was no word from Jiang Yuduo. Sister Luo had not called either.
“It’s nearly San-ge’s birthday, Children’s Day, you know?” Chen Qing mentioned.
“I’m aware,” Cheng Ke responded.
“If he hasn’t returned by then,” Chen Qing pondered for a moment, “should we celebrate his birthday?”
“…Are you being a bit silly?” Cheng Ke was surprised.
“What’s silly about it?” Chen Qing clicked his tongue. “People still hold weddings even if the bride can’t attend!”
Cheng Ke coughed and sputtered, “Don’t worry, I’m just going to… wait a little while longer.”
Jiang Yuduo couldn’t recall the exact number of days since he escaped, but it had been several months since his birthday, and he found himself working tirelessly from early morning until midnight.
The strawberry wine had reached its peak, emitting a delightful fragrance and casting a vivid crimson hue. When placed in the sunlight, it would create gentle, swaying, red ripples on the pristine white wall.
After carefully returning the wine to the refrigerator, Cheng Ke retrieved his mobile phone and dialed Xu Ding’s number.
“I’m going on a business trip for a few days,” he remarked while glancing at the calendar. “I’ll be checking out other themed restaurants.”
“Where are we headed?” Xu Ding inquired.
“…Several places,” Cheng Ke cleared his throat and casually listed a few location names. “It’ll be about a week.”
Xu Ding fell silent for a moment before offering a smile. “Alright, what about the store…”
“Don’t worry about that,” Cheng Ke reassured him. “Just for these few days, I’ve asked Huihui to keep an eye on it; she’s quite capable.”
“Sounds good,” Xu Ding responded. “I wish you a smooth inspection.”
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