Chapter 36: Crossing Mountains and Seas (4)
Before dawn on Wednesday, they returned to New York, to Wu Wei's apartment.
In the darkness, she pushed open the familiar yet now slightly unfamiliar apartment door and whispered to Lin Yiyang, "They're still asleep."
Holding his hand, she led him through the living room, and the two of them groped their way into the room where Yin Guo had once stayed. As they opened the door, they nearly tripped over the suitcases stored inside. This time, hearing her bump into the luggage, Lin Yiyang immediately scooped her up by the waist and kicked the suitcase aside with his foot. It slid to the opposite corner with a loud thud .
They exchanged a glance.
"That was a bit loud," she murmured.
Lin Yiyang set her back down on the floor. The apartment’s soundproofing wasn’t bad, so he wasn’t too worried.
They split up to gather their things and freshen up. By around nine, the other two in the apartment had woken up.
With their departure looming, Yin Guo and Lin Yiyang found themselves idle, as if there was nothing left to do.
This was what it was like before someone important left—ordinary, utterly ordinary. No extra words were spoken, unlike in the days before WeChat when people would exchange a few last-minute reminders. There was nothing left to say now; aside from the dozen or so hours on the plane, they could stay in touch anytime.
There was nothing left to do, either. They didn’t feel like doing anything—just staying in the same space together.
Yet their hearts felt uneasy, like hourglasses slowly emptying as time slipped away.
With nothing else to occupy him, Lin Yiyang picked up a rag and wiped down the counter, tidying the kitchen.
"Do you have any dirty clothes here?" she asked from the kitchen island. "Otherwise, maybe we could go to the laundry room?"
"What for?"
"To do laundry," she said. "And… I just want to see it one last time before we leave."
The first-floor laundry room of an old apartment building held no special meaning for most—such places were everywhere in the city. But for her, it was where Lin Yiyang had first told her he wanted to pursue her. She still remembered the blue plastic table in the middle, where they had sat on opposite sides, occupying a corner, communicating through their phones as if it had just happened late last night.
Lin Yiyang patted her head. "We’ll go again when we come back."
He didn’t want it to feel like a final farewell.
When Wu Wei returned after running errands, he found the two still in the living room, having gone nowhere and showing no signs of retreating to a room for some private time. Puzzled, he quietly asked Lin Yiyang, What’s going on? Did you two fight before leaving?
Lin Yiyang ignored him, checked his watch, then went to grab his suitcase. "We’re leaving."
Wu Wei watched as the two left the apartment, mulling it over. He figured it must have felt like the day he left home to study abroad—wanting to say a few more words to his parents but having nothing left to say. On the surface, everything seemed the same as any other day. They just sat at the dining table, waiting for each passing minute, waiting for the calculated time to leave. Only after actually picking up their suitcases, stepping out the door, and getting into the car did the sadness finally hit. The ache of leaving home.
Having no girlfriend himself, this was the only way Wu Wei could make sense of the quiet between Lin Yiyang and Yin Guo.
Meanwhile, as Yin Guo descended the stairs, she was already heartbroken when she passed the laundry room.
"Let me take a picture," she said.
Lin Yiyang paused.
Yin Guo had already pulled out her phone, hurriedly snapping several shots inside the laundry room before rushing back out. "Okay, let’s go."
She knew the car was waiting outside, so she had taken the photos hastily, without focusing properly. When she checked them in the car, two were blurry—only the other two were still somewhat clear.Lin Yiyang noticed her staring at her phone and said, “Wait till I send you back, I’ll take a photo and send it over.”
She gave a soft “Mm,” rubbing her eyes as if nothing was wrong, though tears had nearly fallen.
The journey was silent.
At the airport, Lin Yiyang saw the crack in her suitcase. Worried it might fall apart during transit, he found airport staff to wrap it tightly in layers of plastic film.
When it came time to pay, Yin Guo tried to beat him to it but failed.
After checking in their luggage, he said, “Wait, let’s see if there’s any issue.” He was referring to the suitcase, concerned it might be flagged during security. If so, being nearby would make it easier to unpack.
Truthfully, he also wanted to linger outside a little longer, to stand with her for just a bit more time.
“If there’s a problem, the money spent on wrapping it would be wasted.”
“It shouldn’t. I checked your suitcase before we left home,” he replied.
That place wasn’t really home—not hers, not his. It was just a habitual way of referring to the temporary space they’d shared. Yet Yin Guo genuinely felt the sorrow of “leaving home,” even though she was actually returning to hers.
“It’s about time, go ahead,” he suddenly said.
Yin Guo shook her head. “One more minute.”
She looked up at him. Lin Yiyang lowered his gaze, meeting her eyes. After a long pause, he pulled her into an embrace. He wanted to say that, barring any surprises, he’d likely return around this time next year. But the words stuck in his throat. Promises were empty until fulfilled.
Right now, everything was just beginning, and the future remained uncertain.
“Do you regret it?” he murmured, his chin brushing against her hair. “Starting something long-distance from the very beginning?”
“Mm,” she buried her face in his chest. “I regret it. You should’ve waited till you came back to pursue me.”
He chuckled.
Without you, who knows if I’d even return?
“So we’ll just keep talking? Until I’m back?” he teased.
“Mm.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’m just stringing you along? Talking for a whole year without making it official?”
For some reason, Yin Guo’s eyes welled up, tears falling one after another. Lin Yiyang first wiped them with his palm, then the back of his hand. “Don’t cry,” he coaxed.
But the more he comforted her, the more her heart ached.
Seeing his words had no effect, he fished out a pack of wet wipes from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. “For the journey. If you run out, there are more on the plane.”
…
Tears still glistening in her eyes, Yin Guo couldn’t help but laugh.
Lin Yiyang waited until her tears dried before guiding her to security. He lingered outside, timing her progress until she’d likely cleared customs, then sent her a message.
Lin: Safe travels.
Red Fish: Delete the nickname. Remove the note you have for me.
Lin Yiyang smiled and deleted it.
Then he noticed she’d changed her WeChat name—Fruit in the Woods.
Fruit in the Woods: Is a four-character WeChat name too long?
He stared at the new name, silent for a long moment.
Lin: No.
Fruit in the Woods: Right, it’s just displayed above the chat box anyway.
Lin: Right.
Fruit in the Woods: I’m really leaving now.
Lin: Okay.
Fruit in the Woods: Send me that thing again. The coffee one.
Yin Guo had just passed through security, her shoelaces still untied, dangling on either side of her sneakers. With her backpack slung over one shoulder, she stared at her phone, waiting. But after what felt like forever, nothing came.Is the signal bad? She checked her phone—full bars. His signal should be even stronger outside.
Beside Yin Guo, people streamed out of the security checkpoint. Some adjusted their hats, others zipped up their bags and slung them back over their shoulders. She bent down, phone clutched in her hand, and tied one shoelace. Suddenly, a notification chimed.
Lin: [Coffee emoji]
That single emoji felt like a door being abruptly pushed open.
She remembered the first time she’d seen this emoji—how annoyed she’d been, thinking he was brushing her off...
She stared at her phone for a long moment before lowering her head to tie the other shoelace. The bow refused to cooperate, and after several failed attempts, she ended up crouching in a corner, hugging her knees, her lower face buried in her arms as she stared at the ground.
The floor before her blurred in and out of focus, veiled by a layer of moisture.
Lin Yiyang took the bus and then transferred to the subway back to his apartment.
On the train, someone started an impromptu drum performance in the middle of the carriage. Normally, he’d have enjoyed it for a while, but today, inexplicably restless, each drumbeat felt like it was hammering against his chest, his nerves twitching with every strike.
He counted the minutes, restless. With nothing else to do, he took his watch off his left wrist, put it on his right, then took it off again and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.
When the train pulled into the next station, a brief signal flicker delivered a delayed WeChat message.
Fruit in the Woods: [Smiley emoji]
Clearly sent just before her flight took off, right before she switched to airplane mode.
Still such a girl, romanticizing even the smallest details of love—like using this as a farewell.
Lin Yiyang thought of their time in the car in Hawaii, of the soft, distinct rhythm of her breathing... of her feet covered in fine sand as she circled around him, of her sitting across from him in an empty subway car, saying: My name is Yin Guo.
His mind unsettled, he powered off his phone.
Entering his apartment building, he passed the laundry room and remembered he’d meant to take a photo for Yin Guo. Before he could step inside, someone emerged—Jiang Yang, who’d been waiting there for over an hour just to see him.
“Why’d you turn your phone off?” Jiang Yang asked.
“Battery died.”
“I’m about to leave—was worried I’d miss you,” Jiang Yang said. Like Meng Xiaodong and the others, he was heading to the Irish Open, also flying out today. “Glad I caught you.”
Lin Yiyang glanced outside. “Need me to call you a cab to the airport?”
“No, already booked.”
Lin Yiyang waited, sensing Jiang Yang’s hesitation, as if gauging his mood before speaking.
“I just saw Yin Guo off—not in the best state,” Lin Yiyang said bluntly. “Nothing against you. Just say what you need to.”
Jiang Yang pulled a sticky note from his pocket with a phone number written on it. The area code was domestic, from their hometown. “It’s the teacher’s number. His home line.”
An unfamiliar number linking to someone once so familiar.
“Realized right before leaving that I don’t even have your WeChat,” Jiang Yang said, pressing the note into his hand. “Borrowed paper to write this down. The teacher hasn’t kept in touch with anyone all these years... His health isn’t great. Call him when you can.”
Lin Yiyang felt the texture of the paper in his palm but stayed silent.
“Stay in touch more,” Jiang Yang said, his hand resting on Lin Yiyang’s shoulder. He gave it a pat, paused, then repeated, “Stay in touch.”Jiang Yang dragged his suitcase and cue case along the narrow hallway, pushed open the apartment door, gradually descended the stairs, and disappeared from view.
In the laundry room, a little boy was folding clothes, each piece neatly squared away. He carefully picked off the lint balls one by one—likely his mom’s clothes. Lin Yiyang leaned against the doorframe watching, this most ordinary laundry room scene suddenly making it feel like he had returned to the world as it once was.
As if no one had ever appeared.
Neither his brother, nor her.
Outside the window was the street view—a chaotic sprawl of buildings, each unrelated and dissimilar, much like the people in this immigrant city, all likely hailing from different hometowns of their own. Including himself.
The feeling of drifting was an emotion akin to opium—addictive, yet easily acquired.
A sense of belonging, on the other hand, was the true luxury among emotions, something too few could offer. He remembered a not-so-close friend once saying that the year his parents passed away, he felt like an orphan—homeless. Only those who’ve experienced it would understand.
A girl had arrived here from across the ocean, from their hometown, at the end of January. Today, she left, calling herself "the fruit in the woods" as she went. She was the one he had chased after, stubbornly claimed, the girl he had held onto even knowing the road ahead was uncertain.
Lin Yiyang folded the label in his hands once, then again.
He pulled out his wallet and tucked that slip of paper into the topmost compartment.
The long winter had stretched on—it was time to wake up.
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