Chapter 76

The package had been signed for by the aunt, not Lin Baixin. Maybe she had already guessed what was inside. As always, Lin Baixin refused to face things head-on; she put the parcel box in the storage room and left it unopened for a long time.

After winter arrived, before Laba Festival, the aunt did a full-house cleaning and sorted through the boxes again. Seeing that one had already gathered dust, she mistook it for junk and nearly carried it out to throw away. Fortunately, she asked Lin Baixin before doing anything, or it would have been a disaster.

“Then I’ll wipe it clean and put it back,” the aunt said. Thinking that the underfloor heating throughout the house had probably softened the cardboard a little, she added casually, “Should I open it? We can put it in a storage box instead.”

Lin Baixin opened the box herself. Seeing the neatly packed, individually wrapped little things inside, her premonition came true. She stood there in a daze for a long time. Only when her phone rang and a call came in did she finally panic. It took her a while before she answered.

It was the store manager, Gu Yue. Something had come up at the shop and she needed Lin Baixin’s input. Probably because the signal was bad, Lin Baixin didn’t catch much of what the other side said. Gu Yue repeated it twice before she came back to herself; after a moment, she only answered, “Do whatever you think is best. Anything is fine.”

Her voice sounded as if it had been rubbed raw by rough sandpaper, unusually hoarse. Gu Yue immediately noticed and asked with concern, “Boss, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lin Baixin quickly collected herself, pulling herself out of the daze she’d just shown.

All the things were moved into Yu Min’s old room. They didn’t use storage boxes; once the stuffed dolls were taken out and puffed back up, they were hard to cram in again. Lin Baixin put everything away one by one and wouldn’t let the aunt help.

Lu Dagun, as always, loved cardboard boxes. With a single leap, it jumped inside and refused to come out, having the time of its life.

The box stayed in the living room for a week or two until Lu Dagun had clawed it to pieces on all six sides. Every day, the whole place was full of scraps of paper; only when it was truly on the verge of falling apart was it finally thrown away.

Recently, Lu Dagun had also developed a fondness for rubbing against the living room camera. The little thing’s brain wasn’t big enough to understand what separation meant. It only had a faint memory of the past; Yu Min had taught it before, and every now and then it would go over to the camera, circle it twice, rub against it to scratch an itch, then paw at it a few times and curiously inspect it from every angle.

The aunt didn’t understand pets and worried the little thing might damage the camera, so she often chased it away, treating it as mischief.

“Let it be. Don’t mind it,” Lin Baixin said. “It’s fine. If it breaks, then it breaks.”

Maybe Lu Dagun could tell how indulgent Lin Baixin was being, because it grew bolder; it rolled over shamelessly, twisted like a noodle, bared its belly and spun in place, then hugged the camera and played to its heart’s content.

After the package was sent back, Yu Min disappeared from Lin Baixin’s world, as if she had simply evaporated from the human world completely and utterly; as if she had vanished into thin air.

Time was the sharpest, most powerful weapon. Day after day passed, covering over the one before it, dulling the traces left by the past.

—Yu Min also cut contact with Lin Qi.

Though they hadn’t exactly laid everything out in the open before cutting ties, they rarely saw each other for long periods anyway; with the distance between them, their contact grew less and less. At first, because she worried about Yu Min, Lin Qi still reached out every few days. Later, she stopped.

Too much concern and too much contact became a kind of trouble in themselves. Lin Qi couldn’t keep bothering her forever; she had to know when to stop. No amount of concern could change reality.

The last time the two sides had been in touch was when Yu Min was choosing her department. After that, the connection was basically cut off.

Maybe the hospital was too busy and exhausting, leaving no energy to think about these things; maybe she was deliberately keeping her distance. The last time, it was Lin Qi who took the initiative to send a message, trying to play peacemaker and asking Yu Min out for a meal. The other side didn’t reply until more than half a month later, and even then there was only one line:

- No. Maybe next time.

After that, even Lin Qi couldn’t find Yu Min anymore. This time, they were truly separated.

Yu Min was a good person; there was no need to worry about that.

That was all they knew. Nothing else.

Lin Qi had done her best. Being caught in the middle was hard enough; there were many things she shouldn’t interfere with too much. Those were other people’s matters. She knew her limits and couldn’t keep disturbing Yu Min.

Until the year had completely ended, for two or three months no one—neither Lin Baixin nor anyone else—heard anything about Yu Min’s movements, not even secondhand.

That year’s New Year’s Eve was bright with lights in every home; the streets were full of noise and celebration. Lin Baixin spent the holiday alone again. The huge house felt cold and empty. The aunt had gone back to her hometown, leaving only Lu Dagun for company.

The kitten didn’t understand what a holiday was. To it, it was just another ordinary day: eating and sleeping, sleeping and eating, with no one making cat food for it.

After the last bag of freeze-dried treats was gone, for once Lu Dagun surprisingly started eating cat food. The long separation had finally made it realize something. From then on, and probably for a very long time, no one would be making cat food for it anymore. Slowly, it gave up its picky eating habit. Cat food didn’t seem so bad after all. It ate in big mouthfuls and no longer needed Lin Baixin to worry about it.

As in previous years, many people still sent their blessings.

Message after message; phone call after phone call.

Lin Baixin answered a video call from Zhou Jin. On the other end, the reunion dinner for several families was already underway, with only one person missing.

“Sister Minmin isn’t here; she didn’t come back,” Zhou Jin said. “I don’t know where she went. I guess she went to find Auntie… to find Aunt Zheng. I’m not really sure either.”

With so many people in the family, no one mentioned Yu Min except Zhou Jin.

Yu Min had stopped attending family gatherings a long time ago. It was fine that she didn’t come back. Everyone was used to it and had long since accepted the situation, so no one would call her back; they knew she wouldn’t come.

—Yu Min was not with Zheng Qing; she had not spent the New Year there.

Lin Baixin only learned this at the end of the first lunar month the following year by accident. Zheng Qing had gone abroad and hadn’t been in the country for more than two months; Yu Min could never have gone to stay with her.

“Didn’t she go back to Siping County?” Zheng Qing sounded rather puzzled. “She went to her father’s place, didn’t she? I think so, anyway.”

No.

Yu Min had only gone there for a short while and left after half a day. Yu Shengyu knew nothing about it either. He didn’t care about that; he couldn’t control his daughter’s freedom. How could Yu Min possibly spend the New Year there? That was impossible even in a dream.

“She seems to be in Jincheng; she probably went to see a friend.”

Which friend could she have gone to see?

Yu Min didn’t have many friends. They didn’t know any of them, and they had no news of her.

.

The Jincheng branch had finally opened officially. The original plan had been for Lin Baixin to go there and hold the fort, but after the opening, it was Lin Qi who went instead.

On the day of the branch opening and ribbon-cutting, X University had just started the semester; the interns should already have returned to the hospital. Lin Qi didn’t know much about that and took the job on herself. Her girlfriend, Luoshu, even set aside her own work to go help.

After the branch got on track, Lin Qi asked Lin Baixin seriously, “So are you actually in charge of the branch, or are you staying here in Kyoto?”

Lin Baixin didn’t care. “Whatever. Either way is fine.”

Lin Qi said, “Then stay here?”

Lin Baixin didn’t answer. No one knew whether that meant yes or no.

In the end, for the next two years, it was tentatively decided that Lin Qi would manage the Jincheng branch. There was no special reason for it; it was simply because Luoshu was also opening a branch in Jincheng. As a steady “older” couple in their thirties, their relationship was rock-solid, and their life plans always moved in step with each other. Wherever Lin Qi laid out her development plans, Luoshu would follow right behind.

On the day Luoshu’s Jincheng branch bar officially opened, many people went over to support them, Zhou Jin included.

Zhou Jin carried two flower baskets over. One was from him; the other was not.

The once chatty Zhou Jin had now become better than anyone at keeping secrets. He clearly wasn’t close with Lin Qi and the others, yet after going there he acted familiar enough to offer his congratulations: “Boss Luo, double happiness. Wishing you booming business. I’ll definitely bring friends by to support you later.”

No one knew who sent the other flower basket. Everyone assumed it was Zhou Jin. Zhou Jin didn’t mention it; who would have thought there was someone else?

In the new year, Zhou Jin’s AI studio was actually doing pretty well. But he didn’t stick with it; he had no intention of fighting a long battle. That kind of thing burned through money too quickly, and the competition was fierce. He figured he just wasn’t cut out for it, so as soon as the studio started to get off the ground, Zhou Jin decisively packaged the whole thing up and transferred it to industry insiders willing and better able to take it over. He actually made quite a profit from it.

He went on to tinker with several other investments, some losing money, some making it. Young people had drive; whether they made money or lost it came second. What mattered was gaining experience.

As a half-family member, Lin Baixin occasionally heard about Zhou Jin’s exploits from other people, but she didn’t pay much attention. Uncle Zhao and his wife were quite proud of him; once, they slipped up and let something out.

“He brought people in as partners; he’s not doing all this alone. Your aunt and I originally wanted to help him, but he just wouldn’t let us. He’s too sensible now, keeping everything from the family and hiding it all; that’s not good either.”

Lin Baixin did keep in touch with Zhou Jin, calling or messaging once every month or two.

Zhou Jin was busy, and their phone calls often lasted less than five minutes before he had to hang up. Even so, he always asked after her with concern.

“Jie, are you doing okay there, all by yourself?”

“I’m fine.” Lin Baixin always answered the same way. “It’s pretty good.”

“That’s good then. Then... I can relax,” Zhou Jin said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be doing well. We’re so far apart, and you don’t know anyone over there. It’s not easy making a living outside. You have to take good care of yourself.”

They even did one video call. Lu Dagun crowded right up to the phone and blocked the entire camera. It kept yowling at the other end, rubbing against the phone, acting spoiled.

“This cat is so cute. It’s fun,” Zhou Jin said happily.

Lin Baixin patted Lu Dagun’s back, then lifted it away after a while, wanting to say a few more things to the other side. In the video, she had been silent the whole time, which made her seem a little too cold and distant.

Unfortunately, Zhou Jin was busy and couldn’t keep chatting.

After that video call, Zhou Jin also seemed to disappear for nearly half a year.

After the Jincheng branch opened, business had been pretty good all along, even better than expected. Lin Qi would report on the situation there from time to time. One ordinary day, Lin Qi suddenly mentioned someone Lin Baixin had almost forgotten.

“Jiang Zhou came to Jincheng. I ran into her yesterday,” Lin Qi said. “I asked her what she was doing here, and she said she’d come to find a friend.”

Across the screen, Lin Baixin’s hand on the book slowed. She didn’t respond to that line.

“Would it be the friend we know?” Lin Qi asked bluntly.

“I don’t know.” Lin Baixin’s expression remained calm as she answered lightly.

If it shouldn’t be brought up, then don’t bring it up too much. Lin Qi had only mentioned it casually and meant nothing by it, but after that she still couldn’t help adding, in a meaningful tone,

“Eight years... there’s less than a year and a half left.”

Lin Baixin kept her eyes lowered, her gaze fixed on the book. She turned a page, then slowly another.

As if she hadn’t heard; and once again, she gave no reply.