When Mengmeng found out I had returned home, her first words were:
"Isn't dignity ultimately more important?"
Mengmeng's debut album was released to an overwhelmingly positive response. As a newcomer, her single surprisingly climbed to the top of the radio charts. Every time I visited a record store, I could hear her songs playing.
Sometimes, I truly envied her—so much so that for a period, I even avoided contacting or seeing her.
I once ran into Hu Tiehan at a record store.
"Here to buy Mengmeng's album?" I teased him.
"No," he replied sheepishly. "Mengmeng was just asking the other day why you haven’t been reaching out lately."
"Isn’t she busy with work? Do you two still find time to meet?"
"No matter how busy she is, she always makes time for me," he said happily.
I noticed a red string tied around his left wrist, identical to the one Mengmeng wore, along with the military watch I had given him.
"Is it your turn to wear it today?" I asked.
He nodded.
Mengmeng had publicly admitted to having a childhood sweetheart as her boyfriend and expressed her intention to marry him someday.
With my own love life empty, I poured all my energy into work.
Mengmeng reached out to me several times, but I always made excuses to avoid meeting her.
"What’s really going on? Did I do something wrong?" she asked over the phone.
"You didn’t do anything wrong. Knowing you as a friend is an honor for me. What do I have that compares to you?" I replied bitterly.
She hung up.
She stopped contacting me, and I didn’t reach out either.
She had everything—money, fame, men, love. All I wanted was Xiaojue, and even he slipped away from me.
When has fate ever been fair to me?
Mengmeng called me at the office and said:
"I’m waiting for you in the café downstairs. If you don’t come, let’s not be friends anymore."
Reluctantly, I went to meet her at the café.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" she asked.
"I haven’t been avoiding you," I said.
"Don’t deny it. Did I offend you in some way?"
"You didn’t offend me. A happy woman and an unhappy woman shouldn’t be together."
"So that’s it."
"I just don’t want to pass my sorrows on to you."
"You never really considered me a friend."
"I did," I said. "Because you’re my best friend, I feel ashamed in front of you. I compare myself to you, and I’m jealous of you."
I couldn’t hold back my tears.
She started crying too.
Watching her cry filled me with guilt.
"I’m sorry," I said.
"You never know who the happiest person is until the very end of life," she replied.
That day, Fang Yuan called me into his office.
"I have a new project for you to take charge of," he said.
"It’s a new client—a clothing chain store. The owner’s daughter has taken over the marketing department and wants to revamp the group’s image, so they’re even switching PR firms."
"I’ll contact her to discuss her ideas," I said.
"You’ve been working late a lot lately. Don’t you need to see your boyfriend?"
"There is no boyfriend anymore," I replied.
"Gao Haiming is a good guy."
"How could I ever measure up to him?"
"He seems to like you a lot."
"It’s better to rely on myself," I said.
Fang Yuan smiled faintly.
I scheduled a meeting with Stephanie Cheng, the daughter of the clothing chain’s owner, through her secretary.
Their headquarters were in Changshawan, with a large space, and the marketing department occupied an entire floor."Miss Cheng is waiting for you inside," her secretary said.
I entered and discovered Stephanie Cheng was none other than Cheng Dieen, flanked by two senior staff members, a man and a woman.
"So it's you?" She smiled.
"I'm Qiu Huan'er from Yunsheng."
I felt an urge to turn and flee. Here I was, having to serve her while she sat so high and mighty, making me appear utterly shabby.
"Miss Qiu, please have a seat," she said with a smug expression.
I handed her my business card.
"We've met before and spoken on the phone," she remarked.
She began pouring out her ideas nonstop, having already planned which celebrities she wanted to sponsor to wear her designs.
"You're quite close with Zhu Mengmeng, right?" she asked me. "She's popular now, so let's sponsor her."
"She might not agree," I said. If Mengmeng knew it was Cheng Dieen's company sponsoring her, she would definitely refuse.
"That will depend on you," Cheng Dieen threatened.
Just then, a call came in for her. Her secretary said it was Mr. Ou—probably Ou Xiaojue.
"Lunch? Sure, see you soon," she said to the person on the phone.
"I'll go back and draft a proposal for you. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave," I said, standing up.
"Are you alright?" she suddenly asked.
"What do you mean?" I retorted.
"Xiaojue said you seem to have some mental issues," she said in front of the two senior staff members.
"Miss Cheng, Yunsheng would never assign someone with mental issues to collaborate with you," I fired back.
She smiled.
Xiaojue actually told her I had mental problems.
"Can someone else take over this project?" I asked Fang Yuan.
"What's wrong?" he inquired.
"Nothing—"
"Everyone else is busy, and I think this task suits you well."
"Then I'll continue handling it," I said helplessly.
Surprisingly, Cheng Dieen didn’t give me too much trouble. As the victor, she really had no need to.
Eventually, I had to reach out to Mengmeng. We arranged to meet at a café in Mong Kok.
"Why haven't you contacted me?" she asked as soon as she sat down.
"Busy with work," I said. How could I tell her she made me feel incredibly insecure?
"You want me to wear her company's clothes? She's your love rival."
"She's my client now."
"Is this for yourself or to please Xiaojue?"
"I won’t try to please him anymore," I said.
"Then I’ll agree."
"Thank you."
"There’s someone who wants to see you."
"Who? Iron Han?"
"He’s here!" Mengmeng pointed toward the café entrance.
It was Yu Deren.
"Long time no see," he said sheepishly.
"You two chat. I have an interview with a reporter nearby, so I need to go. Call me!" Mengmeng patted my shoulder and left.
Yu Deren was about to say something to me.
"Don’t mention Xiaojue—" I cut him off.
"I haven’t been seeing him."
"You don’t have to avoid each other because of me."
"He’s busy chasing that rich girl and doesn’t have time for us anymore."
"I’m sorry," I said.
"Sorry for what?" He looked puzzled.
"For saying"It's you?" The shop owner recognized me. "Have you finished building that Wild Weasel?"
I nodded. There were no more of those Wild Weasel fighter planes on the shelves anymore.
"We're not restocking them. They're not the latest model, so few people buy them. The one you bought was the last one."
Just as I was about to leave the model shop, Gao Haiming walked in.
"Why are you here?" he asked me.
"I was just passing by," I said.
I noticed he was carrying a cardboard box.
"Finished a model and here to deliver it?" I asked him.
He nodded. I watched him hand the model over to the owner and receive a thousand yuan in return.
"Are you free? I just got paid, so I can treat you to a meal," he said.
"Sure!" I replied.
We went to that Italian restaurant in Wan Chai for dinner.
He ordered a plate of angel hair pasta.
"Aren't you bored? You always order the same thing," I asked him.
"I rarely change my tastes," he said.
"I'm really sorry about making you leave alone that night," he said.
"Your alcohol tolerance is pretty weak!"
"Yeah."
"But you have a lot of alcohol at home."
"Having a low tolerance doesn't mean I can't drink."
"True. Are you still building model planes for others? When will you stop?"
"Until I no longer believe in love."
"Do you believe in it?" I retorted.
"Don't you?"
"It's hard for me to believe again," I said.
After leaving the restaurant, Gao Haiming said to me:
"I still have two hundred yuan left. How about getting some ice cream?"
"Not today," I said, not in the mood.
"No problem," he said, a little disappointed.
"Next time."
He nodded.
"You haven't contacted me for so long, I was worried about you," he said.
"Then why didn't you contact me?"
"I'm afraid of being rejected."
"And especially by someone like me—"
"That's not what I meant."
I took a deep breath. "It's already autumn."
"Autumn is halfway over. Winter is coming soon."
"Does building models help pass the time?" he asked me.
"Do you want to pass the time?"
"I have a lot of time now," I said. "So I really want to build models."
"Girls aren't usually good at this kind of thing," he said, sounding doubtful that I could handle it.
"Not necessarily," I said. "Maybe I can build a fighter plane."
"Alright, I'll teach you," he said.
The next day, Gao Haiming invited me for lunch and gave me a model kit.
"The propeller is the simplest. Start with this," he said.
"Thank you. How much is it?"
"If you don't build it well, then I'll charge you."
I looked at the model kit, completely clueless about where to start.
"There are instructions inside," he said.
It turned out that building models really could pass the time. I had very little time left to feel sad.
It took me four weeks to finish the model. For my first attempt, there were many flaws, and I had no choice but to hand it over, bracing myself for the criticism.
"It's pretty bad!" he said bluntly.
"Is it a fail?"
"The joints aren't well done, the parts aren't fitted securely, so the plane's wheels are all crooked. And you didn't apply the decals with enough precision—look, they're torn." He tore my model to shreds with his critique.
"This is my first piece," I said angrily.
"That's why you need to keep practicing. Skill comes with experience," he said, pulling another fighter plane model kit from his briefcase and handing it to me."This is your second assignment," he said.
"Thank you."
He truly had no words for me.
"Didn't I tell you not to say thank you?"
"I owe you a lot," I said.
"I want to see you as you were before."
"As I was before?"
"Confident and happy."
I sighed.
"That version of you is the most adorable," he said affectionately.
"Are we friends?" I asked him.
A flicker of disappointment crossed his face: "You only want to be friends with me?"
"I no longer know how to love, nor do I have the strength to love anyone."
He gave a bitter smile and collected the model I had assembled.
"Keep this shoddy work at my place," he said.
I spent three weeks completing the second fighter plane model.
"Still pretty bad," Gao Haiming said.
"I put a lot of effort into it," I retorted.
"Effort doesn't mean it's good," he said.
"You're right. The person we put the most effort into loving might give us the least in return."
"This one needs to be stored away too," he said, taking my fighter plane and pulling out another model kit. "This is your third assignment."
"Oh my god!" I exclaimed.
"Thinking of giving up?"
"Not at all!" I snatched the model from him.
"This fighter plane needs to be delivered in sixteen days."
"Why?"
"Sixteen days from now happens to be Christmas Eve. If you can finish it on time, I'll treat you to Christmas Eve dinner. If not, you'll have to treat me."
"Is it already Christmas?" I realized with surprise.
"It's already winter," he said, looking out the window.
"Alright, see you on Christmas Eve," I said.
In the early hours of December 24th, I finally finished the fighter plane model. When I returned to the company in the morning, I received a call from Gao Haiming.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"Sorry, you'll have to treat me to dinner," I said.
"I've reserved a table at the Peak Restaurant. I'll pick you up at 7:30."
"See you then," I said.
Gao Haiming arrived on time to pick me up. That evening, he was wearing a dark blue suit and had gotten a haircut, looking quite handsome.
"You look very well-dressed tonight," I said.
"Thank you. Aren't you wearing a coat?"
"I'm not cold," I said.
Truthfully, I didn't have a decent coat to wear. Xiao Jue hadn't kept his promise to repay me the money.
We sat at the open-air restaurant on the Peak. The wind was strong, but I forced myself to act as if I weren't cold at all, not wanting to appear shabby.
"Two years ago on Christmas Eve, I called you from Mount Fuji. Remember?"
"I remember," I said.
"Time flies—it's already been two years."
For me, these two years had passed very slowly, each day feeling like a year.
"Where's your assignment?" he asked.
I took out the completed fighter plane model.
"You've improved a lot," he said as he examined it.
"Really?"
"At least it looks like a fighter plane now."
"Is that a compliment or criticism?"
"Of course it's a compliment. The two you built before were barely recognizable."
"It's all thanks to your guidance," I said.
"Consider this my Christmas gift," he said.
"If you don't mind it, then sure."
He handed me a new fighter plane model kit.
"Is this a Christmas gift?"
"It's your fourth assignment," he said.
After dinner, Gao Haiming drove me to the Peak Park. We sat on a bench and chatted. The air at the peak was freezing, and I couldn't stop shivering."Will you hang a Christmas stocking at the foot of your bed tonight?" he asked me.
"A Christmas stocking?"
"You said that every Christmas Eve when you were a child, you hung a stocking at the foot of your bed."
"I no longer believe in Santa Claus."
"If you don’t hang a stocking, how will you know there’s no Santa? You said it yourself—falling asleep with hope and waking up with hope is a wonderful feeling."
"Happiness is just an emotion."
"Happiness should be something tangible."
I pointed to the black cotton socks on my feet and said, "Tonight, these are the only socks I have."
He walked to the trunk of his car and took something out.
"I made one for you," he said.
"A sock?" I was surprised.
"A Christmas stocking. I wanted you to fall asleep with hope."
He unfolded the red Christmas stocking in his hand. It was enormous—nearly six feet tall and four feet wide—just enough to cover the bench we were sitting on. The top of the stocking was made of feathers.
"It’s so big?" I was startled.
"It can hold a lot of hope," he said.
"It’s even bigger than my bed."
"You can sleep inside it," he said.
"Really?"
I crawled into the Christmas stocking. The giant stocking enveloped me perfectly, like a sleeping bag. It was made of fine velvet, and sleeping inside felt incredibly warm. On such a cold night, being wrapped up like this was pure bliss.
"Do you know how to make stockings?" I asked him.
"I got top marks in home economics class. Is it warm?"
I nodded.
"You’ve been shivering all this time, but you wouldn’t admit you were cold."
I sat up and looked at Gao Haiming. "Thank you," I said.
He covered my mouth with his hand. "Don’t say thank you."
I held his hand and asked, "Why are you so good to me?"
He hugged me as I nestled inside the Christmas stocking and kissed me.
It had been a long time since I’d been kissed—it was a long-lost feeling of happiness. Even being held felt like a kind of happiness I hadn’t experienced in ages.
That night, I slept inside the Christmas stocking.
Being loved, after all, is a happier state.
"Really? You’re really in love with Gao Haiming?" Mengmeng asked me excitedly.
"In front of him, I feel a sense of dignity."
"Do you love him?"
"Not to that extent yet. At least, I wouldn’t tie a red string around my wrist for him."
"It’s just a matter of time."
"I really need him. He appeared when I was at my lowest—he’s my lifesaver."
"A lifelong lover shouldn’t just be a lifesaver."
"A lifesaver is everything when you need one. I won’t nurture another man again. If you nurture him too well, there are only two outcomes—you lose him, or someone else steals him away."
Under Gao Haiming’s guidance, I’ve already assembled my tenth model fighter plane. Each one is better than the last. It turns out that being nurtured by someone else is a happier experience.
I often ask myself, "Do I love Gao Haiming?"
He is my lifesaver, while Xiaojue is my everything.
Spring arrived, and Mengmeng’s second album became even more popular than her first. She’s now a star. The newspapers say she’s dating a male singer.
"Is it true?" I asked her. She still wore the red string around her wrist, and today it was her turn to wear the military watch.
"I love Tiehan deeply. No one can compare to him.""Seeing the red string on your wrist puts my mind at ease. But you're so famous now—will he mind? He's always been quite the chauvinist."
"He knows how deeply I love him. As long as there's love, what problem can't be overcome? Even if I only have an hour to sleep, I'd rather spend it with him."
"It's heartwarming to see someone who still believes in love so strongly."
"Don't you have Gao Haiming?"
"He treats me very well," I said.
"You should love him."
I laughed bitterly. "There's no 'should' about love. It's like a wound that cuts to the bone—even after it heals, it's never the same as before."
That day, I was having Japanese food with Gao Haiming in Causeway Bay.
"I have a business trip to Japan next month. Are you free? If you can come along, we could visit Le'er."
"I'm not sure if I can get time off. I'll check when I get back," I said.
Just then, Xiao Jue, Cheng Die'en, and Xiao Jue's three sisters walked in and sat at another table.
They were chatting and laughing merrily. His three snobbish sisters seemed to get along particularly well with Cheng Die'en. I overheard them saying this meal was Xiao Jue's treat—he had just been promoted.
"Are you alright? You've gone pale," Gao Haiming said.
"My ex-boyfriend is sitting over there," I told him.
"Should we go somewhere else?" he asked.
I nodded.
Gao Haiming called for the bill.
But just before leaving the restaurant, I changed my mind.
"Let me introduce you," I said, pulling Gao Haiming over to Xiao Jue's table.
Their whole group, including Cheng Die'en, looked startled to see Gao Haiming and me approaching.
"What a coincidence running into you here," I said to Xiao Jue breezily.
"It's been a while," he replied, standing up.
"Let me introduce you—this is Ou Xiao Jue, and this is Mr. Gao Haiming."
"Pleasure to meet you," Gao Haiming said, shaking Xiao Jue's hand.
"Gao Haiming is the CEO of Letao Group, and also your boss's uncle by marriage," I deliberately emphasized. Letao was a major conglomerate in Hong Kong that everyone recognized.
Xiao Jue and Cheng Die'en indeed showed surprised expressions.
"We'll be going now," I told Gao Haiming.
I strode out of the restaurant with my head held high.
I had used Gao Haiming to get some revenge.
Gao Haiming and I moved to another restaurant for dinner.
"Why did you tell him about my background?" he asked me.
"What's wrong with that? Did you mind?"
He remained silent.
"I can't stand those three sisters of his," I said. "I was the one who paid for his education. Without me, how could he have achieved what he has today? Now that woman and his three sisters get to enjoy the benefits. He never once treated me to Japanese food—they were eating Kobe beef just now! What right do they have? What right do those sisters have?"
I thought I had moved past Xiao Jue, but seeing him again reopened the most painful memories. I couldn't accept it, especially seeing him so happy.
Gao Haiming stayed quiet the whole time.
"Let's go. I need to get to work," I said.
He accompanied me to the elevator.
"You never really got over him," he said.
"I hate him," I replied.
"You have to have loved someone deeply to hate them this much."
I had no response.
"You never truly loved me."
"Nonsense!" I tried to cover up.
"Why can't you forget him?" he asked sorrowfully.
"You're right, I can't forget him. He was my first man."
"Is that the only reason?"
"Isn't that enough? If you need more, I'll tell you—he was my entire life."
He gazed at me with heartbroken eyes."You're right, love is like drinking poisoned wine with a smile, and I enjoy drinking this cup of poison," I said stubbornly.
"He doesn't love you anymore."
"Who are you? What business is it of yours?" I blurted out.
"I thought I was your boyfriend," he said awkwardly.
"You and me together in a test tube wouldn't produce your ideal color—that bright blue. We're two incompatible substances. Let's just end it and go our separate ways," I said.
The elevator arrived. I stepped out while he remained inside, looking at me dejectedly.
"Am I really that terrible?" he asked, holding the elevator door open.
"It's me who can't match with you. I'm sorry, I can't love you," I replied.
"I understand."
"I'm sorry." I turned to leave.
"Goodbye," I heard him say.
"Goodbye," I replied without looking back.
Several days passed, and he didn't call again.
Did he ever understand that this was a ten-year relationship?
That night, while organizing my drawer, I came across the thirty-two cans of air and the Christmas stocking he had given me before.
I called him, but his maid said he had left Hong Kong. Why didn't he tell me?
"Do you know where he went?" I asked her.
"Mr. Ko didn't say."
I called Raquel in Japan, but she said Ko Hoi Ming hadn't contacted her.
"If he comes to you, call me immediately," I said.
"Sis, did you and Hoi Ming have a fight?" Raquel asked.
"We didn't fight," I replied.
Many days later, I called Raquel again.
"He hasn't come. He might not be in Japan," she said.
Where did he go? Why did he leave without a word?
A week later, I called his secretary.
"Mr. Ko hasn't returned, and he won't be back for a while," she said.
I was stunned. "Why?"
"He resigned as CEO," she replied.
What was going on? I kept paging him and calling his home, but I couldn't reach him.
Where had he gone?
I shouldn't have treated him that way that day, but he should have given me a chance to apologize.
Late one night, a week later, I finally received a call from him.
"Where have you been?" I asked.
"I'm not coming back," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You never loved me."
"I do love you."
"Don't lie to yourself."
"Come back, and we'll talk—"
"You never loved me, not even for a moment."
I had no words.
"I can't keep looking at you—" he sighed.
"You're just like him, abandoning me in the end," I accused him.
"You know that's not true. Take care of yourself while I'm gone."
He hung up.
Just like that, he left and never called again.
"He loves me; he'll come back soon," I comforted myself. He was my lifebuoy; he couldn't just abandon me at a time like this.
I rushed to his home, and his Filipina maid let me in.
"Mr. Ko hasn't been home for a long time," the maid said.
"Can I take a look in his room?" I asked.
"Feel free," she replied.
I entered Ko Hoi Ming's bedroom. The Weasel fighter plane was still on his bedside table—he hadn't taken it with him.
The ten model planes I had assembled were arranged on the shelf, from the first one to the last one I built the previous month.
The planes he had built himself, however, he hadn't kept.That day, I deliberately emphasized his background in front of Xiao Jue, just to show off. I was using Gao Haiming as a status symbol—I didn’t love him. Now that he was gone, I had no right to resent him. Besides, I was the one who suggested breaking up.
"Miss Qiu, are you leaving?" the maid asked.
"If Mr. Gao comes back, tell him he must contact me," I said.
I had no confidence that he would return.
"He’ll come back," Mengmeng comforted me.
"No, he won’t. He’s a very stubborn person—I know that," I replied.
"Maybe he wants you to look for him."
"If he doesn’t show up, where can I even find him?" I said helplessly.
"Think about it—"
"I’ve got it!" A sudden idea struck me. "He might be at that place—if he’s still in Hong Kong."
I went to the model shop in Mong Kok to see if Gao Haiming had been there.
"He hasn’t come by," the owner said. "I’ve been hoping to see him too—I have several model kits waiting for him to assemble."
I scribbled a note asking him to contact me.
"Boss, if you see him, please give this to him." I handed the envelope with the note inside to the owner.
Two months passed, and with each day, I missed him more. It turned out he wasn’t just my lifebuoy—but I realized it too late. I had been far too harsh that day.
In the latter half of the year, the new president of Letao took office—a relative of the family named Gao Ran. I attended a meeting with him in his office. The person who used to sit in that office was Gao Haiming—the place where we first met. The tools he often used for assembling models were still on the desk. Suddenly, I felt how cruel he was—he hadn’t given me even one chance. His disappearance was just like when Le’er went missing. He had helped me find Le’er, but who would help me find him?
In December, I took a week off to visit Le’er in Japan.
Le’er was still staying with Mr. and Mrs. Kawashiro, friends of Gao Haiming. They were very hospitable and invited me to stay. Le’er had grown a lot and was taking good care of herself. She was already in high school and worked part-time at Mr. Kawashiro’s company after class.
"Mr. Gao hasn’t visited Japan in a long time. My wife and I miss him very much," Mr. Kawashiro said.
"I don’t know where he is either," I replied.
"He used to call occasionally to check in, but it’s been a while since I’ve heard from him," Mr. Kawashiro added.
Yes, it had been a year since I last heard his voice.
"Sis, would you like me to take you to Mount Fuji tomorrow? It’s snowing there now—it’s really beautiful," Le’er said.
The next morning, we set out from Tokyo to Mount Fuji and checked into a traditional Japanese-style hotel.
"Brother Haiming always stays at this hotel whenever he comes to Mount Fuji," Le’er told me.
"Really?"
"That’s what he said when he visited me in Tokyo. Do you think he might be here now?"
"Here?" I felt lost.
"We could ask the hotel staff."
I inquired at the hotel’s room service about the guest list, and they found Gao Haiming’s name.
"Mr. Gao has stayed here before," the staff member said.
Overjoyed, I pressed further, "When was the last time he stayed here?"
"His most recent stay was three years ago, on December 24th."
That was the day he called me from Mount Fuji to wish me a Merry Christmas.I folded a thousand-crane from colored paper and wrote a few lines on it, telling him to find me if he saw it.
"If Mr. Gao comes again, please give this to him," I said to the server.
"Alright."
"Do you miss Haiming that much?" Le'er asked me.
"More and more each day," I replied, gazing at the snowy scenery outside the window.
"He was really good to you. If it weren't for him, I might still be in Hong Kong, accomplishing nothing. It wasn’t until I came to Japan alone that I realized I had to work hard and rely on myself."
"When you ran away from home, did you ever think about going back?" I asked Le'er.
Le'er shook her head.
"Why?" I was surprised.
"If I had thought about going back, I wouldn’t have left."
Then Gao Haiming probably wouldn’t return either.
"Let’s get some rest early. We’re going skiing up the mountain tomorrow," Le'er said.
After Le'er fell asleep, I went to the hotel lobby and found the server again.
"Does Mr. Gao always stay in the same room when he comes here?" I asked her.
She checked the records and told me, "Yes, he always stays in room 606."
"Is room 606 occupied tonight?"
"Let me check," she said, looking through the records. "No guests are staying there tonight."
"Could I take a look inside?"
"Well, alright. Let me arrange that for you."
The server went into the office to get the key and accompanied me to room 606.
"This is the room," she said.
I stepped inside. The snowy view from the window was even more enchanting than the one from my room.
"Does he always come alone?"
"Yes, Mr. Gao really likes it here."
I sat by the window, watching the snow.
"Could I stay here for a little while?" I asked her.
"Of course."
The server left.
I noticed that the futon on the tatami was turned down. She said no one was staying in this room, so why was the futon open? I hurried out to find the server.
"Miss—"
"What is it?" she turned back to ask.
"Come take a look," I urged her back into the room.
"You said no one is staying here, so why is the futon turned down?"
"Maybe the housekeeper was careless," she said. "Is there anything else?"
"No," I replied.
The tatami looked as if someone had slept on it. I reached into the futon—it was still warm. Could Gao Haiming have been here? Did he know I was coming and hide? I opened the wardrobe, but there was no luggage inside.
The next morning, Le'er and I went up the mountain to ski. Her classmates joined us, but since I didn’t know how to ski, I lingered around the small shops near the ski resort.
Several stalls were selling "Mount Fuji air"—small cans filled with air from the mountain.
The thirty-two cans of air Gao Haiming had given me were bought here. The ground I was standing on now, he had once stood on too.
What he gave me wasn’t just air—it was love. Love is like air. Why hadn’t I realized it then?
He once said that love is like smiling while drinking poison. At the time, I thought I was the one drinking the poison, but it was him. He gave so much, and I never once thought about repaying him. I was the one who forced him to drink that poison.
Why am I so useless? Only after he left did I realize I loved him? It’s too late.
"Sis, why don’t you stay here for Christmas?" Le'er asked me.
"I have to spend Christmas in Hong Kong," I said.On the evening of December 24th, I returned to Hong Kong. Before going to bed, I took out the Christmas stocking Gao Haiming had given me the previous year. I hung it at the foot of my bed, letting it stretch out long on the floor. It would bring me hope—I hoped that when I woke up the next day, Gao Haiming would be back by my side. He had once said that he wanted me to fall asleep holding onto hope.
On December 24th, I had to stay in Hong Kong; I had to hang up the Christmas stocking.
When I woke up, Santa Claus hadn’t come, and he hadn’t brought Gao Haiming back to me either.
I rolled up the Christmas stocking and held it close to my chest. There really was no Santa Claus in this world.
I went to the model shop again.
“He hasn’t been here,” the owner said.
I had already expected as much.
“I really miss the models he used to build,” the owner said.
I felt the same way.
“I have a fighter jet model here that no one can build. No one builds them as well as he did,” the owner said, troubled.
“Did the customer specifically ask for him to build it?”
“Yes. This customer gives her boyfriend a fighter jet as a birthday gift every year. She’s already given two, both built by Gao Haiming. This year, she wants to give a third one, but time is running out, and she can’t find Gao Haiming. She’s very anxious.”
The owner brought out the model fighter jet that had been left at the shop. It was an F-4S Phantom.
“Can I give it a try?” I asked.
“You?” The owner seemed a bit doubtful.
“I’ve built this model before. If I don’t do a good job, I’ll compensate you with a new one.”
“Alright then.”
I took the model fighter jet home and spent three weeks carefully building it. Only when I was working on the model did I feel as though Gao Haiming was beside me. If I made any mistakes, he would have pointed them out.
During the process of building the model, I was able to forget my loneliness, if only for a little while. A girl had promised to give her boyfriend a fighter jet every year, and I didn’t want to disappoint them. Since Gao Haiming had built the first two, it felt like a kind of collaboration between him and me for me to build the third one. He once said that the fighter jets he built represented love, but the one I built represented my guilt. Would he ever know?
“It’s built quite well,” the owner said as he examined the finished model.
“Of course, my teacher was Gao Haiming,” I replied.
“His models are worth a hundred points; yours is worth seventy-five. But the customer will accept it. I’ll call her right away to come pick it up.”
I looked at the F-4S Phantom, feeling a bit reluctant to part with it.
At the beginning of the following year, I got a promotion, and my salary increased by thirty percent.
“Your work performance has been excellent,” Fang Yuan said.
That was only because I could pour all my emotions into my work.
“Gao Haiming is a strange person,” Fang Yuan remarked.
I looked at the F-15 fighter jet model he had built, sitting on the table, and said, “He’s very cruel.”
During the Lunar New Year, Mengmeng was performing in Vancouver. Two days after she arrived, she called me.
“I saw someone who looked a lot like Gao Haiming,” she said.
“Where did you see him?” I pressed.
“At a supermarket on Hornby Street in the city center. I was shopping this morning and saw a Chinese man who looked just like him. I chased after him, but he had already disappeared.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Of course, I can’t be a hundred percent sure.”
Could it be that Gao Haiming had been hiding in Vancouver all along?
On the tenth day of the Lunar New Year, something happened.When I saw the news report on television, I could hardly believe my eyes.
Hu Tiehan had been shot twice and was severely injured, hospitalized.
That evening, Tiehan was off duty and had arranged to have dinner with me and Yu Deren in Causeway Bay. Yu Deren and I waited at the restaurant for two hours, but he never showed up. We assumed he had been called away for a major case and couldn’t make it.
When I returned home, I happened to catch the news report. I saw him, covered in blood, being lifted into an ambulance. His left hand hung limply off the stretcher, the red string still tied around his wrist.
At the time of the incident, two patrol officers had stopped a suspicious man in Central District. The man resisted and suddenly pulled out a handgun, firing at the officers. A shootout ensued between the police and the criminal. The armed fugitive then took a female pedestrian hostage and forced his way into a taxi, entering through the left door. Hu Tiehan happened to be getting into the same taxi from the right door—I suspect he was on his way to meet us.
Tiehan was off duty and unarmed. Inside the taxi, he was taken hostage by the fugitive, who ordered the driver to head to Ocean Park. The taxi was eventually stopped by a police barricade near Ocean Park, leading to another shootout. The taxi driver and the female hostage managed to escape during the chaos. Inside the taxi, Tiehan struggled with the fugitive and was shot twice. At the time, it was unclear whether the bullets that hit him came from the fugitive’s gun or from police firearms.
Yu Deren and I rushed to the hospital, but his injuries were too severe. Despite the doctors’ efforts, he was pronounced dead. Yu Deren and I held each other and wept. Tiehan’s father, also a police officer, sat on the ground, sobbing.
It took all my courage to call Mengmeng, who was performing in Vancouver.
She was still asleep.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
I told her the news.
“That can’t be. You’re lying,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m not lying. Book a flight back immediately,” I urged.
By the time Mengmeng returned, it was too late for her to see Tiehan one last time.
The bullets in Tiehan’s body were later confirmed to have been fired from police firearms. The two patrol officers who initially engaged the fugitive hadn’t seen Tiehan get into the taxi. They assumed only the driver and the female hostage were inside. The police at the Ocean Park barricade were also under the impression that there were only two hostages in the vehicle. When the taxi broke through the barricade and came to a stop, Tiehan and the fugitive struggled over the gun. The driver and the female hostage seized the chance to escape. The driver tried to inform the police that there was another hostage inside, but the officers didn’t hear him. The scene was poorly lit, and with Tiehan and the fugitive tangled together in the backseat, the two officers who opened fire couldn’t see there was another person inside. They shot into the taxi from a distance. The fugitive was hit three times and died on the spot. Tiehan was shot twice.
In a cruel twist of fate, Tiehan had been killed by his own colleagues. His lifelong dream was to be a good police officer, yet he ended up dying by a police bullet. What an absurd life.
At Tiehan’s funeral, I saw his body. The red string was still tied around his left wrist—a symbol of his vow with Mengmeng. A promise that had turned into a tragic prophecy. They would have to wait for another lifetime to be reunited as husband and wife.
“Mengmeng—” I couldn’t find any words to comfort her.
She raised her hand to stop me, tears in her eyes as she gazed at the red string on her own wrist. “He’ll recognize me in the next life,” she said softly. “We’ll meet again.”
My heart ached, and I choked back sobs.
“I took this military watch to Vancouver with me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I should have left it with him.”"He won't vanish. Nothing in this world truly disappears; it merely transforms into something else. Perhaps he's become the dust on your skin," I said.
She looked at the back of her hand and replied, "Then let him linger there."
Xiaojue came to the funeral alone. It had been over a year since we last met. He approached me.
"How have you been lately?" he asked.
"Aside from Tiehan's matter, everything is fine," I answered.
"Do you still resent me?" he inquired.
I gazed at him for a long moment before saying, "I no longer feel anything at all."
I had once believed I could never forget him, but now my heart was occupied by another man. Though his whereabouts were unknown, I knew he was the one I truly loved—and he would never vanish from this world.
"Thank you," I told Xiaojue.
"Thank me?" He seemed taken aback.
"You helped me understand what love is. If someone truly loves you, they would never strip you of your dignity."
He looked deeply ashamed.
It turned out he was no longer the poison in my cup.
I asked Mengmeng for the address of the supermarket in Vancouver, took a week off, and went to find Gao Haiming. Vancouver was blanketed in snow. Every morning, I waited outside the supermarket until it closed. If Gao Haiming was there, he would come.
I asked every cashier if they had seen him, but to them, all Chinese looked alike—no one remembered him.
I wrote a note and pinned it to the supermarket's bulletin board, hoping he would see it.
My vacation ended, and I had to leave.
Mengmeng returned to the stage with her new song, "Red String." She broke down in tears during her performance. Perhaps Tiehan had transformed into one of her teardrops.
At least they could love each other in the next life, but Gao Haiming and I didn't even know if we would meet again in this one.
One day, I went to Gao Haiming's home. The maid opened the door for me. Everything inside remained exactly as it was before he left. The pine marten figurine still stood mournfully by the bedside. He had once told me that when pine martens are attacked, they release an unbearably foul odor to fend off enemies. His sudden departure might have been his way of reacting to an attack—perhaps I was the one who had hurt him.
I went downstairs and knocked on the door of his mother's apartment.
"Auntie."
She seemed startled to see me.
"Please sit down, Miss Qiu. It's been a long time."
I noticed Gao Haiming's father sitting in an armchair. He was much older than his wife, in poor health, and had difficulty moving.
As she spoke to me, he kept his eyes fixed on her, and she occasionally returned his gaze with deep affection. They were such a loving couple—destined to be reunited in their next life.
"I'm sorry for intruding—" I began.
"Don't worry. Haiming has always been willful, coming and going as he pleases. He even ran away from home when he was a child."
"Has he written to you?"
"He's sent a few postcards," she said.
My heart leaped with hope. "Auntie, may I see them? I know I shouldn't read what he wrote to you, but I truly want to find him—"
"Alright, I'll show them to you."
She brought out three postcards for me to see.The first one was sent last year from Japan, with no address. The postcard featured a scenic view of Mount Fuji, and the mailing date was in December. December? Could it be that he was really in room 606 of the hotel that night? Did he know I was about to enter the room and then left?
The second postcard was of Prague Square, sent from Prague this March. The weather was so cold back then—what was he doing in Prague?
"Mom, Dad, it's very cold here. Is Hong Kong cold too? I've had some drinks, so I'm feeling much warmer. Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourselves."
That’s what he wrote on the postcard.
His tolerance for alcohol was very poor, yet he actually drank in Prague. The weather was so cold, and his days must have been very hard. I felt I had let him down.
The third postcard was sent last week, from San Francisco, USA.
"He did call back, but he never told me where he was," his mother said.
"Auntie, if he calls again, please tell him I miss him. I really miss him," I said, my voice choked with emotion.
"Alright," she replied, "I miss him too."
I hurried to a travel agency to buy a ticket to San Francisco, thinking he might still be there.
Once in San Francisco, I came up with a new strategy. I copied down the addresses of every model shop in the city from the phone book and visited them one by one, hoping Gao Haiming might show up at one of them.
At a model shop on Chestnut Street, I saw a fully assembled F-15 fighter jet, beautifully crafted.
"Who built this fighter jet?" I asked the shop owner.
"It was outsourced to someone else. We have a person who builds models for others, and he does an excellent job," the owner replied.
"Is he Chinese?"
"Yes, he is Chinese."
"What's his name?"
"I only know his English name—it's Ming."
Gao Haiming didn’t have an English name, but it was possible he had adopted one after coming to San Francisco.
"Does he only build fighter jets?"
"Yes, only fighter jets."
"Where does he live?" I pressed the owner.
"I don’t know, but he’s coming back tomorrow at 11 a.m. to deliver his work."
I stayed at the hotel, unable to sleep all night.
"I might have found him," I told Mengmeng over a long-distance call.
The next morning, I arrived at the model shop a little after 9 a.m. to wait for Gao Haiming, worried he might come early.
I wore my prettiest clothes and waited in the shop. It had been two years—I didn’t know how he might have changed.
By 11 a.m., Gao Haiming still hadn’t shown up.
At noon, the model builder arrived, but it wasn’t Gao Haiming—it was a middle-aged man.
"Why do you only build fighter jets?" I asked him.
He shook his head and said, "No particular reason. I just find fighter jets easier to build than warships. I’m a new immigrant here and couldn’t find a job—"
It turned out to be a reason that was far from romantic.
I left the model shop, deeply disappointed.
On my last day there, I saw a missing person poster in the subway station. A man had encountered the same girl twice in the subway and wanted to get to know her, but both times he didn’t dare speak up. After getting off the train, he regretted it, but he never saw her again. So, he put up a poster in the station to find her. The ad read:
Is it you? We met in the train car, sitting side by side. Only after losing you did I realize it was a regret. Coming back, I can no longer find you. Your smile was so sweet, lingering in my heart. Can we meet again? My number is 566-6842, my name is Chris.
Yes, only after losing something do we realize it’s a regret. Coming back, we can no longer find you.
I asked a subway employee if I could place an ad like that. He said I’d have to print the poster myself. Printing a poster would take time, and I was returning to Hong Kong the next day—there was no way I could manage it in time. I wrote a note and stuck it on the missing person poster. On the note, I wrote:
Wild Weasel, Where are you? I came looking for you. When will we Share angel hair pasta together again? You once said that matter never disappears,
it only transforms.
Where have you transformed to?
I'm looking for you.
Gao Haiming would know it's me.
After returning from San Francisco, I had dinner with Mengmeng, who had just come back from Thailand.
"Don't you get tired of searching for someone to the ends of the earth?" she asked me.
"A woman can do things for love that she normally couldn't," I replied.
"Having someone to search for is a good thing, at least there's hope," she said wistfully.
I went to Gao Haiming's home again to see his mother. She gave me two postcards—one sent from Venice, the other from the small island of Capri in Naples, Italy.
"Maybe he's there," his mother said.
In December, I took a vacation and went to Venice first. It's a hauntingly beautiful city, with many glass workshops on the streets crafting exquisite glassware.
"Can you make a weasel fighter jet?" I asked one of the shopkeepers, sketching one for him.
He shook his head: "That's too complicated."
I sat on a boat touring the lake. Could Gao Haiming be here?
I asked the boatman, but he said he hadn't seen anyone like that.
I knew he wouldn't just disappear.
After leaving Venice, I went to Capri. It's a beautiful island with many small cottages and crystal-clear seawater.
I lingered on the beach, bought a bottle of mineral water, wrote a note, stuffed it into the bottle, and threw it into the sea. Maybe Gao Haiming would find it on a deserted island.
I could only hope. Perhaps he had already fallen in love with another woman, found that bright blue that can't be found in this world—a blue even the waters of Capri couldn't compare to.
After leaving Capri, I went to Prague, where he had once sent a postcard from.
Prague in winter is bitterly cold, with snowstorms and temperatures as low as -9 degrees Celsius.
I stayed at a hotel near Charles Bridge.
It was Christmas Eve. I spent the day wandering around St. Mark's Square but didn't run into Gao Haiming. In a small alley, I found an Italian pasta restaurant, where a couple sitting near the entrance were eating angel hair pasta.
I entered the restaurant, my ears and nose numb from the cold.
I ordered a plate of angel hair pasta and only then realized how delicious it is.
"Has a Chinese man ever eaten angel hair pasta here?" I asked the pretty waitress.
"There was a Chinese man who came here for angel hair pasta every day for three weeks straight," she said.
"What did he look like?" I pressed.
"He was quite short, with naturally curly hair and very fair skin, probably around 31 or 32 years old."
So he was already 31 or 32. He had been gone for two years; that would be about right.
"When was he here?"
"That was last year. He really loved the angel hair pasta here."
I wrote a note and handed it to her: "If you see this person again, please give him this note for me."
"Who is he to you?" she asked.
"He's the person I miss the most," I said.
I left the restaurant and returned to the hotel.
I took out the giant Christmas stocking Gao Haiming had given me from my suitcase and crawled inside to sleep.
I fell asleep holding onto hope.
When I woke up, he wasn't there.
This Christmas, he still refused to see me.I’m increasingly convinced that on this day last year, he was in that room on Mount Fuji, where I once felt the lingering warmth he left behind.
It was I who drove him away—how could I blame him? Those who study science are often stubborn.
Two substances, given the right temperature, energy, and position, can react. And here I am, foolishly waiting.
Every time I wake at midnight, fear grips me—is Gao Haiming still here? Has he already vanished, transformed into a speck of dust, occasionally settling on my shoulder?
I can’t bring myself to brush away the dust from my shoulders.
To the ends of the earth, where is he now?
[End]
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