Chapter 51: “Starting Over” Part 1

Half an hour later, Kong Liyuan finished bandaging her wound, locked herself away, and refused to see anyone.

At 8:18 p.m. local time, the Earth turned, and the whole of Los Angeles faced fully away from the sun.

When Kong Liyuan stepped into the massive, imposing building, the lights came on, as if she had crossed completely into the other side of the planet’s rotation.

Separated from Fu Tingli by an entire night.

Fu Tingli sat on the wooden bench in a daze, watching as Kong Liyuan walked inside and vanished from her line of sight. The two crutches, stained with sweat and blood, lay discarded nearby, but she couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

The sanatorium, which had just endured such chaos, was now calm once more. The ground had been cleaned.

Just like that steel pen that had nearly pierced Fu Tingli’s shoulder and neck—it had been taken away, wiped clean of blood, and tossed somewhere unknown, as if nothing had ever happened.

Fu Tingli was the only one left, her hands still stained with Kong Liyuan’s blood. After all this time, it had dried into thick, red crusts, speckled and somewhat horrifying.

From the gash on Kong Liyuan’s hand. It felt just like…

The two of them had grown together once again.

When was the first time they had grown together? Five years ago in California?

It had already been five years.

Qiao Lipan strolled over slowly, cradling the freshly rebandaged kitten. Fu Tingli was rubbing the congealed blood on her hands, still replaying Kong Liyuan’s recent words and the look in her eyes.

“What’s this? Reluctant to wash it off because it’s her blood?” Qiao Lipan ruffled Fu Tingli’s hair.

“No.” Fu Tingli shook her head, her nose still red at the tip. “Not that crazy.”

She looked up again at the countless glowing windows in the inpatient building, forced a smile, and said slowly, “I just feel like I’m really awful.”

“Hm? How so?”

“For so long before, you told me not to come back to California, and I didn’t. But the moment I heard she was here—even knowing she didn’t want me to come—I rushed over anyway.”

Fu Tingli had been traveling for days and had just gone through that frantic chase. Now she was exhausted, like a fugitive who had been wandering far from home for ages.

She wanted nothing more than to bury herself in Qiao Lipan’s arms.

Qiao Lipan seemed to understand and didn’t hesitate. With one hand holding the kitten and the other pulling Fu Tingli in tightly, she huffed atop her head.

“What can you do? Daughters grow up and must leave the nest. That’s how it goes. Back when I came to find your dad, your grandma was furious with me—ignored me for five or six years out of spite. If I hadn’t brought you back that year, she would’ve swept me out the door even on a major holiday. Though your dad really wasn’t a good man, to be fair.”

“In this world, only mother is good.” Fu Tingli used to say that all the time. It had been years since she’d last uttered it.

“I think you’re all talk. If I told you right now to go back home and settle into that good job you found, and to stop looking for this Kong Liyuan—best if you never saw her again for the rest of your lives—would you listen?”

Fu Tingli fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, “Not every word from Mom has to be obeyed.”

Qiao Lipan smacked the back of her head hard, with no mercy whatsoever.

“You’re really that in love? You two young things in your twenties, haven’t even lived long—how’d you fall so hard and fast, like some epic movie couple vowing eternal separation from the world?”

Fu Tingli rubbed her chin against Qiao Lipan’s shoulder. She stretched out her good leg, propping the injured one on top.

She smiled faintly. “I don’t know. Is this really falling hard and fast?”

“It’s not? Then what is?” Qiao Lipan shot back.

Fu Tingli squinted her dry, gritty eyes. She’d shed so many tears earlier that crusts of them still lingered around her sockets.

“I thought it was the kind where two people go on the run, standing on a speeding car, yelling ‘I love you’—that’d be falling hard and fast.”

“That might count as one kind.”

“But… but…” Fu Tingli said “but” twice in a row.

“Neither of us has ever said ‘I love you’ to the other. No one’s even admitted to loving. So how did it turn into this?”

Maybe love was always like that. By the time you noticed the tip of the branch poking out—dismissing it with scorn—it had already taken deep root in rich, fertile soil long ago.

“Why not say it?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It’s because you two treat ‘love’ as something so profound, so lofty. I’m not saying if that’s good or bad—you figure that out yourself.”

Fu Tingli rubbed her chin uncertainly. Qiao Lipan chuckled and said, “Kids these days,” before firing off more questions.

“So not saying it means no love? Saying it means love?”

Fu Tingli said nothing, pressing her lips tight.

“Then why do you love her? Why her and no one else? Couldn’t you love someone different?”

At that question, Fu Tingli finally pulled free from her tangled thoughts and smiled relaxedly.

Her young face glowed in the dim yellow streetlight, like the heroine from a ’90s romance film—loving with reckless abandon, yet unable to define what love was or why it had to be this way.

“The first time I saw her was five years ago. I hadn’t even hit twenty yet—for most people, that’s not even a third of a lifetime. But I knew right then I’d stumbled on something I might never encounter again.”

“Later I realized I’d underestimated love’s power. I thought it was just novelty, that I was chasing thrills. That once she changed, or I did, it’d all fade away. But five years later, I still remember meeting her on the road from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I remember her blocking my car, begging me for a ride to find someone.”

“Unless something unexpected happens, in ten years, twenty years, I’ll keep remembering Kanas, Shanghai—even Chongqing, where we nearly crossed paths again. And now this moment in Los Angeles… Only after living it once does everything else pale in comparison.”

She’d pondered love countless times, thought she understood it, analyzed it, believed she’d grasped it completely.

In the end, all she had was a vague conclusion: Love was so complex, so difficult.

This abstract thing turned people into someone entirely new, yet also helped them truly know themselves—uncovering experiences and colors their past lives had lacked.

No wonder everyone knew love’s other name: “the other half.”

It was so ethereal, so seemingly worthless—yet everyone chased it anyway, swearing undying fidelity.

In the deep black of night, Qiao Lipan listened, smiled, patted her head, and slowly stroked the skin above her left eyebrow.

That car accident five years ago had left a nasty gash there too, but it wasn’t deep. Unlike the one on her ring finger, where the “Zoe” necklace had dug in and scarred. This spot had healed perfectly.

“So the person you met at twenty was her. No wonder a perfectly fine road trip turned you into such a mess.”

Fu Tingli half-closed her eyes, feeling Qiao Lipan’s rough fingers glide gently over the skin, and said sweetly, “It wasn’t her fault. She was badly hurt too but still carried me off that cliff.”

“So my daughter, whom I raised with such care, hits twenty and falls in love like this—comes back battered and bloody, that’s one thing, but all her elbows are pointing outward too.”

With that, Qiao Lipan smacked her injured leg hard, without holding back.

Fu Tingli yelped in pain but figured from Qiao Lipan’s tone that she wasn’t truly angry, so she squinted and smiled.

Seeing the smile only made Qiao Lipan more irritated. She smacked it again, then sighed in relief and said slowly, “Fine, I’m not one to dwell on the past. Right now, your mom here’s heading back to San Francisco—got things to handle. What about you?”

“I…” Fu Tingli sniffed her stuffy nose. “I definitely can’t just leave like this.”

Qiao Lipan didn’t respond, just waited quietly for her to continue.

“Mom, I believe she’s a good person. I don’t know if you heard what she said to me just now.”

“If you did, that’s great. If not, I still need to tell you—”

Fu Tingli said stubbornly, “Since she told me everything about herself, I definitely can’t just listen to those words and walk away. That would be too cowardly, and far too unlike me.”

“Then you’re not leaving? You plan to stay here forever? Just keep her company like this?”

“I want to see more of her. I want to see her clearly, and let her see me just as clearly.”

“When did you teach her that line?”

“What?”

Qiao Lipan burst out laughing. She looked at Fu Tingli for a long moment before saying, “Actually, after that day, when I called you again, I wanted to add one more thing.”

“What?”

Fu Tingli froze. Back then, after seeing the news, she had lost all interest in anything else and hadn’t gotten around to asking why Qiao Lipan had called.

Qiao Lipan smiled and ruffled her hair again. “Those words of mine had another meaning.”

“Put conversely: since you’re Qiao Lipan’s daughter, I still hope that even if you know this path won’t be easy, you’ll have the courage to take it anyway—instead of being a coward who wants to love but doesn’t dare, and will only regret it later.”

With that, she shrugged.

“Looks like now, you don’t even need me to say it. You’re already prepared to do just that.”

~~~

The next day, Qiao Lipan returned to San Francisco.

Fu Tingli put on her volunteer uniform again and crutched her way around the garden, now bathed once more in sunlight. She didn’t find the person she was looking for.

Instead, Li Qiao approached and regretfully informed her that Kong Liyuan was refusing all visitors.

Fu Tingli nodded silently.

Then she smiled faintly. “Not surprised. Yesterday, when she told me to go back to my country and stop worrying about her, I figured she’d do something like this.”

“You’re not mad at her?” Li Qiao asked.

“Mad at her for what?”

“She said she deceived you.”

“She just said she deceived me.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’ve never thought that.”

Li Qiao narrowed her eyes at her for a moment, a smile flickering behind her glasses. “Sometimes I think, if you were just a little more ruthless, the two of you might have gotten together ordinarily long ago—and then broken up ordinarily over lies, self-interest, or selfishness, just like everyone else I know.”

“You know me, Doctor Li?” Fu Tingli was a bit surprised.

“Of course.” Li Qiao nodded, gazing out at the sanatorium building bathed in golden light, as if lost in memory.

“She comes here every year at this time. I’ve heard her talk about so many things. Starting five years ago, she’s been telling me about you—lots about you.”

She smiled again, half-joking. “I had no idea that events from just three days could provide so much to talk about, for so long. But you know, she actually doesn’t remember much of what she does during her manic episodes. After so much time passes, the details she can recall fade more and more each year. The stories she tells get less clear every time.”

“But one thing’s always been true: manic patients are incredibly chatty. At first, I even wondered if you were made up—if her condition had worsened into hallucinations. How could someone like the person she described actually exist in this world?”

“The me in her stories?” Fu Tingli murmured, a little dazed. “What kind of person was I in her stories?”

Li Qiao coughed lightly and deftly changed the subject. “I shouldn’t repeat the compliments. You should ask her yourself.”

Fu Tingli smiled, her still-swollen eyes crinkling. “Then I’ll ask her myself someday.”

Li Qiao let out an intrigued “Oh?” “What exactly did you two say yesterday? She’s shut herself away today, but you can still smile?”