Chapter 52 Part 1

Over the past few years of working, Wen Zenian had taken precious few vacations. Even activities like skiing, horseback riding, or yachting out to sea were usually spent accompanying the big boss and their family, or fulfilling some social obligation. Time that was truly and completely her own was hard to come by.

She relished what she got.

After her swim, while Chen Luzi headed off to watch the fashion show, Wen Zenian slipped away alone to the spa for some peace and quiet. She chose iris massage oil for her treatment, feeling the tension ease from her muscles, starting in her forearms and spreading down to her legs.

The desserts at the Paris C Hotel were exquisite, and she never denied herself those. Dinner, however, she skipped.

That evening, she turned down Chen Luzi’s invitation to join a friend’s party and retreated to her room alone, wrapped in a bathrobe.

The fruit platter and white wine had already arrived. She curled her legs beneath her, half-reclining on the sofa. The scent of iris essential oil still clung to her skin, weighing down her eyelids with a pleasant drowsiness, though sleep didn’t quite appeal yet.

With this rare stretch of time entirely her own, she picked up the remote control and scrolled through the options on the screen, looking for a movie.

She landed on Paris Night Traveler.

Her thumb hesitated on the remote.

She scrolled further.

She flipped down a few more entries, then scrolled back up.

She clearly hadn’t finished the film last time—in Meng Ning’s bedroom—and she was the sort who always saw things through to the end. Starting it now would only make it seem like she was deliberately avoiding it.

She pressed play and fast-forwarded to the point where she’d dozed off before, picking up from there.

The story unfolded without high drama, quiet yet tinged with melancholy—the exact mood she favored. She curved her slender waist as she reached for the stemmed wine glass on the low table in front of her and took a sip.

“Meng Ning.” With the wine’s warmth lingering at the back of her tongue, she curled her tongue slightly and murmured the name aloud, testing it.

What a lovely name.

By now, she could finally face it without flinching. And after that, she could forget it.

She needed to move forward from the past, to embrace a life that was truly hers.

Not Wen Min’s life. Wen Zenian’s life.

After returning to the city, Meng Ning traveled light and skipped the taxi, taking the subway to the train station instead.

Taking the train out of town was a hassle—no direct routes, requiring transfers to high-speed rail in other cities. But she wasn’t in a rush, and plane tickets were pricey. She preferred to save where she could.

Finally aboard the high-speed train after changing lines, she watched the electronic display flash the final destination over and over: Crane City.

Meng Ning’s seat was by the window. As the scenery outside grew more and more familiar, reminiscent of old memories, her hands rested on her knees, her fingertips curling unconsciously.

Upon arriving in Crane City, she checked into the budget hotel she’d booked ahead of time. At the front desk, the clerk murmured to her colleague in the local dialect that she was strikingly pretty.

Meng Ning’s lips curved into a faint smile.

The clerk caught the expression. “You understood that? Are you a local?”

Meng Ning nodded.

“I thought you were from out of town—no accent at all in your Mandarin.”

“I’ve been away a long time.”

“Oh,” the clerk thought, that explains the hotel. Probably back for some business.

Meng Ning dropped her bags in her room first. Exhausted from the journey, she collapsed onto the bed in her clothes, hands folded over her stomach as she lay staring at the ceiling for a while.

Hearing her hometown dialect again felt strangely unfamiliar. She parted her lips to try speaking it, but the context had faded after so long. After all, the only person who would have drawn those words from her was gone.

Crane City’s transit system was a maze. After puzzling over subway and bus routes for a bit, she gave up and took a cab to the hospital.

She was really back. Even the air carried the scent of the river—far from crisp, laced with a faint, earthy tang.

She knew this hospital’s layout like the back of her hand. Five years later, the lobby now had an electronic registration system, but otherwise, nothing had changed.

She headed to a particular office and knocked on the wooden door. “I have an appointment to make a donation.”

“Miss Meng, right? Come in.”

Meng Ning stepped inside to complete the paperwork.

The office belonged to the Cancer Fund Committee, set up in the hospital to raise money for struggling families.

The staff member, seeing how young she was yet donating hundreds of thousands without hesitation, smiled in admiration. “Miss Meng, you’re so accomplished for your age.”

Meng Ning shook her head.

She didn’t earn much, but she had few material wants. With even less reason to spend in the future, she decided to donate it all.

Once the paperwork was done, she wanted to leave the hospital quickly, but a voice called out. “Meng Ning?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Meng Ning.” The voice called again from behind.

She turned. “Doctor Fang.”

“It’s really you.” Doctor Fang approached her. “What brings you here…?”

“Making a donation.”

Doctor Fang let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh of relief. “Good girl.”

If she hadn’t been dragged to that unavoidable meeting on the administrative floor with her colleague today, she never would have run into Meng Ning.

What a coincidence, she thought with a pang of emotion. She looked Meng Ning up and down. “You haven’t changed a bit—still just like before. How have you been?”

Meng Ning smiled. “Pretty good. And you? Still busy as ever?”

Doctor Fang touched her own face. “Do I look older?”

Meng Ning shook her head. “You have such great poise.”

“You always did know how to talk.” Doctor Fang glanced at her again. “Still so thin, though. Do all you young people love dieting? You really should eat more.”

“Not dieting.” Meng Ning smiled again. “I’m a beach lifeguard now—lots of physical demands.”

“A beach? Down south?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great. The south is good for you. Get some sun—it’ll do wonders.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll head out.”

Doctor Fang’s gaze flicked discreetly to the Buddha beads on Meng Ning’s wrist, as if to say something, but she simply nodded. “Go on, then. Take care of yourself. Eat more.”

Meng Ning agreed. “You take care too. Don’t work yourself sick.”

She gave Doctor Fang and her colleague a small smile before turning away.

Doctor Fang watched her retreating figure until it was out of sight. Then, as they walked toward the conference room, she lowered her voice. “Do you remember that patient I had five years ago? Beautiful woman, name of Shi Yang.”

“How could I forget? Spoke so softly and gentle, always tying her hair back with a handkerchief.” Her colleague sighed too. “Couldn’t save her in the end.”

Doctor Fang said, “That was her daughter.”

The colleague replied, “I thought it might be her—just grown up. Wasn’t sure at first.”

Doctor Fang said, “I think she looks just the same as before, especially those eyes.”

“That’s why the Buddha beads on such a young person struck me. Poor girl… Back then, it was just her and her mom. Handling all the medical bills, treatment decisions—she couldn’t have been more than…”

“Early twenties.”

“Right. And she dropped out of her final year of college to care for her mom, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“I still remember that time she rescued a cat. She climbed up there, the cat was about to slip through the safety net. She reached out and grabbed it by the scruff. The thing was terrified, thrashing around, and a protruding wire sliced her wrist open. I was right there—she didn’t even flinch, blood pouring everywhere, but she wouldn’t let go.”

Doctor Fang fell silent for a long moment.

“Once the cat was safe, she went to the ER. The colleague on duty saw her wrist—a mangled mess of blood and flesh—thought for a second she’d… I don’t remember her face all that clearly anymore, but I can still picture her expression when it happened. She gave the lightest smile, like a weight lifting.”

“She’d been holding everything in for so long.” Doctor Fang recalled. “I remember one day after my shift, I saw her alone outside the inpatient building. Wind had turned her nose pink. She smiled when she saw me. She said, ‘Doctor Fang, today Mom told me we’ve reached this point—should’ve given up long ago. I’m suffering, you’re suffering. But I’ve lived this long with no one but you, and you’ve got no one but me. What will you do if I go?'”

“She’d stopped crying by then. Just smiled.” Doctor Fang’s gaze flickered. “Even when she signed the DNR consent form, she was smiling.”

Her colleague let out a long sigh. “That’s why our hospital started the Terminal Patient and Family Mental Health Association.”

They both remembered Meng Ning and her mother, Shi Yang, vividly.

Shi Yang had been admitted in the late stages of breast cancer and lingered for a year, beyond saving. With no other family, all the burden had fallen on her young daughter, Meng Ning.

In the end, it was Meng Ning who signed the consent form to withdraw treatment—each stroke firm and deliberate, the final one lingering so long that the ink bled deep into the paper.

A nurse, unable to watch, gently took the form from her hands.

Meng Ning hadn’t shed a tear that day. Only the heavy ink mark on the last stroke of “consent” remained, like tears she could no longer cry.

Later, Doctor Fang attended Shi Yang’s funeral. Hardly anyone came—just Meng Ning, a girl in her early twenties, standing alone and forlorn.

Doctor Fang knew words wouldn’t help, and though she called Meng Ning a few times afterward, the calls went unanswered. As a doctor, her days were packed without time for meals, and contact faded.

Even her colleague felt a quiet relief seeing Meng Ning today. “She seems to be doing okay, right? Smiling, talking.”

“Yeah, she said she’s a beach lifeguard now. Good job—sunlight does wonders for the mood. She’s just so thin… Heartbreaking. If only she’d eat more…”

Doctor Fang and her colleague headed into the conference room together.

After leaving the hospital by cab, Meng Ning went straight to the cemetery.

Cemeteries had a way of inducing a dreamlike haze. Such a tiny urn—could it really hold a lifetime’s worth of stories?

Among a wall full of little niches, Meng Ning found Shi Yang’s. She lit incense and paid her respects.

“Mom,” Meng Ning said, gazing at the small black-and-white photo. “I’ve really been trying my best.”

Five years ago, after the funeral, she’d left Crane City. The place was too painful to face. She’d hired people to tend Shi Yang’s memorial regularly.

When deciding where to go next, she’d searched aimlessly online. For some reason, she looked up Cen Meigui.

She found her: Cen Meigui representing a bar called “3rd” in a mixology competition.

So she’d headed south too, becoming a beach lifeguard at the C Hotel. On her days off, in the afternoons, she’d visit “3rd”—a café by day, bar by night—for a coffee and a glimpse of Cen Meigui.

But she’d never told her who she was.

From the day she signed that consent form, she’d never cried again. She knew her emotions were gravely ill. Perhaps to save herself, she’d chosen the C Hotel—everyone said it was the closest thing to paradise on earth.

She had this thought: if even the C Hotel couldn’t heal her, maybe nothing could.

Five years of trying, and she was truly exhausted. She was out of options.

“Mom, if you’d gone with Auntie Cen back then,” Meng Ning said softly, standing before the memorial tablet and gazing at the small black-and-white photo, “if you’d lived a happier life, would you not have gotten sick?”

In the photo, Shi Yang smiled serenely, no longer able to answer her.

After leaving the cemetery, Meng Ning took a taxi to the old alley where they used to live. The alley had long since been demolished and turned into office buildings and shops. But tucked away in a forgotten corner, the beef noodle shop Shi Yang had loved in life had somehow survived in the cracks of time.

Meng Ning went inside and ordered a bowl of beef noodles in standard Mandarin. The owner no longer recognized her. She added a lot of chili—Crane City folks could handle their spice—but whether from being away too long or something else, her nose turned red from the heat. She dabbed at it with the tissues on the table, sniffing nonstop.