But unexpectedly, Tang Xien—who had been standing perfectly still—responded to her question with a grave expression. “Mm, it’s very efficacious. They say it’s especially true during this time of year for making wishes. You two should give it a try too.”
She had used the word “too,” which implied that she had already made her own wish.
“Ah?” Ji Zhenshi leaned in closer to peer over. From Tang Xien’s vantage point, she could clearly see a prayer ribbon inscribed with Tang Xien’s own handwriting.
—Come to my dreams tonight.
It was a cryptic sentence without much context. And considering how Tang Xien had lingered here all alone for so long, had it all been just for this one ribbon?
Ji Zhenshi hadn’t pieced it together yet when Li Yunli already understood exactly who it was meant for. A flicker of astonishment crossed her face, and she felt deeply moved by Tang Xien’s gesture.
She had written it for her girlfriend. Tang Xien had traveled all this way just for the Wishing Tree, her longing so profound that she was wishing for her to appear in her dreams at least once.
It was a touching kind of devotion—praying merely for a single visit in a dream?
“If she doesn’t come to your dreams, isn’t it because she’s afraid you’ll be sad? Perhaps even her spirit in heaven worries about your grief.” Li Yunli wrote the words carefully on her notebook.
Not coming to your dreams stems from knowing that recalling those memories would bring you unbearable pain. She doesn’t want you suffering like that, so she stays away entirely.
Tang Xien stared at the line of text, her gaze ultimately settling deeply on the prayer ribbon.
“But if she never comes again, I’ll forget what she even looked like.”
The girl lived on forever young in her memories, forever vibrant and full of life in her early twenties. Yet Tang Xien herself was no longer young. As time wore on, that cherished face was starting to fade from her mind.
This was something Tang Xien could not abide in herself. She refused to let it happen, so she prayed for just one dream visit—to look properly at her face, to hold her tightly, even if only in the hazy realm of a dream. It would bring her some measure of peace.
Li Yunli tried to read Tang Xien’s inner turmoil from those words, but in the end, she could only offer a detached observer’s perspective: “How to soothe lovesickness? Only through reunion or through forgetting.”
Since reunion was impossible, then choose forgetting. Forgetting would ease that crushing tide of longing.
“So I chose the former,” Tang Xien said with a helpless smile.
Ji Zhenshi frowned as she listened to their enigmatic exchange, but her intuition told her that the only person who could occupy Tang Xien’s thoughts like this was her girlfriend.
Ji Zhenshi’s fingertip brushed over the end of the prayer ribbon as she let out a sigh. “Teacher Tang, I always took you for an atheist. I never imagined you believed in things like this.”
“Ji Zhenshi, I am an atheist. But when it comes to resurrection from the dead, I’m the exception.”
Rationally, she knew it was impossible. Yet emotionally, the obsession consumed her, driving her to grasp at even such outlandish ideas.
It was her all-consuming love that Tang Xien could not escape. From foreign notions of God to domestic myths and legends, every action that seemed to contradict her nature boiled down to a single word: love.
Some loves could span mountains and seas, but they could not evade the inexorable judgment of fate.
“Resurrection?” Ji Zhenshi’s mouth fell open in disbelief. She could hardly credit hearing such words from Tang Xien of all people.
This was Tang Xien—the woman who never wasted time on pointless pursuits. For her to believe in something like resurrection?
“If only the world truly offered resurrection. Sadly, it doesn’t.”
With that, Tang Xien turned to leave.
Li Yunli tugged lightly at Ji Zhenshi’s sleeve and shot her a meaningful glance.
Ji Zhenshi spoke up at once. “Teacher Tang, since we’ve bumped into you, why don’t we walk together for a bit?”
At a moment like this, solitude could breed melancholy. Friends to share the time with might make it easier.
Tang Xien glanced back. The concern in Li Yunli’s eyes was utterly genuine, impossible to fake. The refusal died on her lips after a moment’s hesitation, replaced by, “All right. Walking together sounds fine.”
And so the three of them threaded their way through the festive bustle. Though surrounded by revelry, they stood apart in their serene quiet. No one spoke as they simply observed the laughter and chatter around them.
After a long silence, perhaps to dispel the stillness among them, Tang Xien broke it first. “Ji Zhenshi, the Legal Department has your contract termination from the company in hand. Once you’re back, we’ll start with my work assignments for you. Put another way, your vacation’s cut short. You’ve got three days at most.”
Most people would dread the end of a holiday, but for the perpetually restless Ji Zhenshi, this break had already stretched long enough. To her, it was welcome news.
Not to mention, with no income and a million in debt hanging over her, the pressure was immense. Even leisure felt uneasy.
Ji Zhenshi grinned. “Sounds good. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
The bright lilt in her voice drew a sidelong look from Tang Xien. “You actually seem thrilled?”
Wasn’t globetrotting with her girlfriend enjoyable for her?
Did she even realize how enviable such bliss was?
“She’s excited to play the violin again. Her fingers have been itching for it lately. Naturally, she’s happy to return to performing.” Li Yunli cleared up Tang Xien’s bewilderment.
Ji Zhenshi wasn’t some fool who hated vacations. She simply couldn’t live without her violin; it was woven into the fabric of her existence.
Otherwise, why had she splashed out on New Year’s Eve just to play a single piece?
Ji Zhenshi draped an arm around Li Yunli’s shoulders and flashed a radiant smile. “What I’m really into is earning some cash.”
Tang Xien averted her eyes, all too aware of Ji Zhenshi’s penchant for nonsense. “No need to fret over whatever garbage Zheng Siqi might spew online. The innocent have nothing to fear. Our team is top-notch at countering smears, and you shouldn’t contact them anymore. Here’s to a smooth collaboration.”
Ji Zhenshi arched an eyebrow. “Naturally.”
“Such confidence.”
“Because I’m a genius.” Ji Zhenshi batted her eyes, breaking into a grin.
Li Yunli merely hooked her pinky finger around Ji Zhenshi’s in fond indulgence.
Time to dial back the humility, Ji Zhenshi.
“Just kidding.” Prompted by Li Yunli’s subtle cue, Ji Zhenshi played the modest card—but not without adding, “Though I did overhear Teacher Tang telling Zheng Siqi I was a genius worth watching. Does that mean I’ve passed probation? What’s your take on me, Teacher Tang?”
She’d caught wind from Zheng Siqi that Tang Xien held her in pretty high regard.
Tang Xien’s recall was sharp. Ji Zhenshi’s remark jogged her memory of that elevator conversation with Zheng Siqi.
After a moment’s reflection, she offered a candid assessment. “Ji Zhenshi, geniuses aren’t one in a million. If you put in the effort, yes—you qualify as one. A genius in the left-handed field, at any rate. Among your peers in that niche, no one shines brighter yet, not that I’ve seen.”
That summed up Tang Xien’s view of her student over the past six months.
Ji Zhenshi might not turn heads in the broader violin world, but in the left-handed arena, her talent and brilliance outstripped her contemporaries.
Genius would do, for the time being.
“Really? Then that means Teacher Tang’s given me her seal of approval.” Ji Zhenshi lit up, her steps growing lighter and bouncier.
Earning praise from a senior she admired was no small triumph.
Tang Xien, watching her evident joy, turned to Li Yunli with an almost involuntary murmur. “I think I finally understand that feeling of making a child happy. Spending time with someone like her injects a bit of joy into everyday life.”
She was amusing company; their dynamic was effortlessly lighthearted.
Li Yunli gave a soft smile. “It does.”
After all, didn’t she usually treat her like a child, coaxing her along? Push too far, and she’d whine; raise your voice, and tears would flow. She really was soft as water through and through.
…
Ji Zhenshi and Li Yunli flew back to Beinan the next day.
Li Yunli had originally suggested that Tang Xien, being on her own, join them for the return trip. But Tang Xien seemed quite taken with the place and turned down the offer, opting to stay behind solo.
Her reasons for lingering were baffling. She skipped the tourist hotspots and ethnic New Year festivities alike. Instead, each morning she scaled the peak known as God Mountain, then passed her days in the temple. No one knew precisely how long she’d kept up this routine, but she showed no signs of stopping.
An atheist… turning to Buddhism, beseeching the impossible.
“My darling, visit my dreams just one more time?”
“I’m on the verge of forgetting your face. Am I terrible for that?”
“I never wanted this, but you haven’t appeared in so long. Are you staying away because you’re afraid it’ll make me sad to remember?”
“But your absence hurts me even more.”
No one could fathom the depths of Tang Xien’s private agony. Even as a mere onlooker, Li Yunli sensed that soul-searing pain must leave her gasping for air. How had she survived the years?
Reconciliation with such anguish was brutally hard, trudging onward all alone even harder. Tang Xien had only herself left now.
Laurels and admirers—what did they amount to? The heights were lonely and chill. On desolate nights steeped in solitude, how did she find peaceful sleep? How many were haunted by nightmares, sleep forever elusive?
Tang Xien would devote the rest of her life to yearning for her beloved.
She would love no one else. The violin aside, her world stood empty.
Which was why Li Yunli thanked her stars countless times that Xiao Zhen had been bold enough to spare them both this brand of lovesick torment.
It was Xiao Zhen—all Xiao Zhen’s courage.
“What’re you thinking about, Sister A-Yun?” Ji Zhenshi stirred from sleep to find Li Yunli gazing vacantly out the window. She nudged her shoulder affectionately with her forehead.
Li Yunli had seemed distracted these past couple of days. Was something weighing on her?
It had started with their encounter with Tang Xien—or more precisely, from that night when the two of them had gone out for late-night snacks without her. Li Yunli had been lost in thought far too often since.
What had they discussed?
No matter how many times Ji Zhenshi pried afterward, Li Yunli brushed it off as idle chat.
Somehow, they seemed to share more common ground than she did.
Li Yunli turned to meet her gaze: sleepy-eyed Ji Zhenshi, bone-tired from all the fun and running on fumes. She’d been out cold since boarding the plane.
Resting Ji Zhenshi’s head against her shoulder, Li Yunli patted her cheek gently. “Nothing much. If you’re still tired, Xiao Zhen, go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we land.”
Ji Zhenshi shook her head and stretched languidly. “I’ve slept forever—my bones feel like jelly. I just get the sense Sister A-Yun’s not happy. Why?”
Ever since Tang Xien entered the picture, Li Yunli kept drifting off into space, lost in her own world.
Jealousy was bubbling up!
No more secrets with Tang Xien.
The words tumbled in her mind. Ji Zhenshi stewed, arms folded tightly across her chest as she turned her back and ignored Li Yunli.
Li Yunli spotted the shift instantly and gently turned her around. “Xiao Zhen? What’s the matter?”
Ji Zhenshi huffed. “I’m upset.”
“Why?”
“Because I am.”
Arms crossed, back resolutely turned, she was stubborn as a mule, bristling with invisible spines.
Even she found her own reason for pique ridiculous, which made voicing it all the harder.
She just hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. She really was jealous!
“Hm?” Li Yunli leaned in closer. “Tell me what’s got you upset? Good Child? Staying mad without explaining means we can’t talk it out, and nothing gets fixed, right?”
Her sign language flowed swiftly, but Ji Zhenshi followed without trouble.
Their ways of connecting were always a little unconventional. If Ji Zhenshi clammed up, resentments could snowball into major rifts.
Cheeks puffed out like a blowfish, Ji Zhenshi shot Li Yunli a wounded pout. “You and Teacher Tang! I’ve been dying to ask—you met her before this, didn’t you? You ditched me out in the open to grab late-night eats with her. Not… not even sneakily! And you won’t tell me what you talked about. I’m furious. I don’t care—I’m jealous, okay?”
Ji Zhenshi spilled it all in a rambling torrent, working herself into a greater froth. Her face twisted like a wife railing against her cheating husband.
Jealousy, loud and proud.
Li Yunli had braced for something grave, but her tension melted away at the revelation.
“So that’s what this is about. Xiao Zhen, yes, I did run into her by chance elsewhere before. But that night was pure coincidence—we just chatted. I wanted to ask her to look out for you properly and to thank her for helping with the contract release. Gratitude matters, you know. Miss Tang’s a genuinely good person.” Li Yunli’s eyes curved with amusement as she clasped Ji Zhenshi’s hand, idly twining their pinkies to soothe her.
Ji Zhenshi peeked up skeptically from under her lashes. “For real?”
Li Yunli nodded. “Absolutely.”
That night, truth be told, Tang Xien had reached out first. Sleepless and too alert to drift off, she’d texted Li Yunli about grabbing late-night snacks.
Li Yunli had agreed, figuring company might dull the raw edges of her melancholy.
A talk couldn’t hurt; nights like that were torture otherwise for Tang Xien.
Plus, prolonged isolation could twist into a yawning pit of despair.
Ji Zhenshi had already nodded off by then. Li Yunli hadn’t anticipated her waking so soon or asking where she’d gone—leaving her no choice but to admit she was out with Tang Xien.
“Ji Zhenshi’s quite the clinger, huh?” Tang Xien remarked as she poured Li Yunli a glass of red wine. She swirled her own, gazing down at the lively festivities below, her lips quirking faintly.
Li Yunli smiled. “She was fast asleep when I slipped out. I never figured she’d wake up suddenly. It’s fine—she said she wasn’t coming.”
“Invite her anyway. That jealous streak of hers is obvious.” Tang Xien crossed her legs elegantly and took a measured sip of the full-bodied red wine, savoring how it traced warmth down her throat to numb her nerves at last, lulling her toward sleep.
Watching others’ happiness, even vicariously, stirred a strange, poignant contentment in her.
That was Tang Xien through and through—deriving bittersweet solace from such bittersweet means.
