Chapter 2

There was a lake near the guesthouse where Liang Yuanxing was staying. Recently, the town had finally cooled down a little, and there was a sense of crisp autumn in the air. Today, many people were picnicking and strolling by the lake.

It was his second day out of the hospital, and he’d decided to stay a couple more days to recover. The owner of the guesthouse was very kind. Upon hearing he was extending his stay to convalesce, she made a large pot of braised pork trotters at noon, telling him to eat well and recuperate.

Although his booking included meals, Liang Yuanxing still felt a bit embarrassed. The hostess waved it off generously, saying she wanted to eat braised pork trotters herself.

Because of his injured foot, he spent the afternoon daydreaming in the courtyard of the guesthouse.

A young man, fresh out of college, whose face could not hide his feelings—his dejected appearance caught the attention of the owners, who each sat on either side of him, ready to offer comfort.

“What’s wrong?” the owner asked. “Why so downcast? Aren’t you here on vacation? Try to cheer up.”

The hostess chimed in, “Exactly! You’re only in your early twenties, at the age where you don’t even need to bring wedding gifts when you attend banquets. Give us a smile.”

With the two of them flanking him, Liang Yuanxing couldn’t help but laugh, explaining, “It’s not that… Ah, look.” He lit up his phone. “My screensaver here—I met the photographer who took this picture yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s a good thing!” the owner said.

Liang Yuanxing briefly recounted what had happened. It was simple enough—they’d just missed each other. When he finished, the couple let out a long, regretful sigh.

Liang Yuanxing was filled with remorse. Why hadn’t he looked at his discharge papers while in the hospital? If he had, maybe they’d have added each other on WeChat by now.

Thinking this, he slapped his thigh in frustration.

“Hey! Careful with that leg!” the owner warned.

“It’s fine, it’s my foot that’s hurt,” Liang Yuanxing replied with a smile.

He laughed for a moment, but soon fell silent. He didn’t know what the resignation process for a doctor was like. His first job after graduation had been singing at a bar, where quitting was straightforward: say goodbye at lunch, and you simply didn’t show up that night.

...Could it be that Duan Qingshen had rekindled his passion for photography because of his own camera? Surely not, he thought.

That evening, the owners hosted a barbecue in the courtyard. Some guests from a nearby farmhouse caught fish, and they grilled them together. The fresh fish, seasoned with just salt and pepper, was delicious. Including the owners, there were seven or eight people chatting and laughing in the courtyard.

The cool autumn breeze was delightful. Because of Liang Yuanxing’s injured ankle and his youth, everyone kept handing him skewers and fish, leaving him so full he was dazed, slumped against his chair.

“Hey!” the hostess waved her hand in front of him, grinning. “Have you gone silly?”

“Oof…” Liang Yuanxing rubbed his belly. “I ate too much.”

Several elegant courtyard lamps glowed, string lights twined around the fence, creating a wonderful atmosphere.

People had come from everywhere, and strangers found it easy to talk. Without reservations, they chatted freely, the lively scene both bustling and comfortable.

But Liang Yuanxing kept thinking of Duan Qingshen, filled with regret—both bitter and helpless. He slapped his thigh again in frustration.

“Hey!” the hostess stopped him. “There you go again! How will you ever heal like that?”

Liang Yuanxing pursed his lips, “It’s my foot that’s hurt, not my leg.”

“Oh, my memory…” the hostess, a little tipsy, shook her head with a laugh. “Good thing it’s just a cut—if you’d broken a bone, you’d be renting a room here for a month!”

Liang Yuanxing nodded in agreement.

The wound was on the side of his left ankle. The traffic police had rushed him to the ER on their police motorcycle; the bleeding wouldn’t stop, and blood had spattered the whole way.

Looking back, Liang Yuanxing almost regretted not just letting the blood flow and recording it all with his camera—it would’ve looked pretty cool.

Thinking of his camera brought Duan Qingshen back to mind.

He slumped back in his chair, gazing at the moon, but even the moon was no help.

Someone brought out an acoustic guitar, tuned it, and strummed a few chords. The owner, beer in hand, circled behind Liang Yuanxing’s chair and asked, “Want to sing a couple of songs? You’re the real professional here.”

“I’ve eaten so much my throat’s clogged up—no singing tonight.”

Someone else took the guitar and sang a folk song, swaying to the rhythm.

The owner looked over at him again, sensing his lack of enthusiasm and a touch of melancholy. Both owners were outgoing and warm; they couldn’t bear to see him look like a heartbroken eighteen-year-old.

So the owner’s eyes sparkled with an idea. He bent down and said, “Hey, Xiao Liang, how about I help you find out about him?”

“Find out about who?” Liang Yuanxing turned, blinking.

“That resigned doctor,” the owner said, sitting down beside him.

“He resigned, not retired, boss. He doesn’t look old enough to retire,” Liang Yuanxing replied.

The owner had probably had a bit too much to drink, but it couldn’t be helped—when you put ‘doctor’ and ‘photographer’ together, it sounded like a lucrative retirement.

“Oh.” The owner nodded seriously. “Why would he quit? Being a doctor is so prestigious.”

Liang Yuanxing shook his head. “I have no idea.”

But he knew doctors worked hard and were always busy. As for prestige, he felt everyone was about the same. Running a guesthouse was prestigious, too. Back when the bar was still open, being a singer there was nothing to sneeze at.

Isn’t life just like that?

“But you mentioned finding out?” Liang Yuanxing sat up. “How would you go about it?”

Surely their hospital didn’t have a confession wall, did it?

The owner laughed, pointing at his villa behind them. “Here, there’s no one who isn’t somebody!”

Liang Yuanxing frowned warily, thinking, Aren’t all your guests right here in this courtyard?

“Anyway, I’ll just ask around.” The owner took a swig of beer. “Have you heard of the ‘Six Degrees of Separation’? Basically, it means any two strangers are only separated by six people.”

“Really?” Liang Yuanxing was skeptical. “So I could connect with Iron Man that way?”

The owner fell silent for a moment. “Do you still want me to ask or not? Let me put it this way: This town isn’t that big. The hospital you stayed at is the largest one. Doctors quitting their positions are rare, and in a small town like this, connections are easy to trace. If you want to find someone, you’ll find them.”

“Alright, let’s give it a try,” Liang Yuanxing said, but then quickly reconsidered. “But even if you find him, what would I say if I see him?”

Like some boundaryless fanboy, or an inexplicably attached former patient.

“Give him a banner!” the owner suggested. “Thank him for his miraculous hands!”

“He already quit.”

“Why did he quit then?” The owner had come full circle. Clearly, he’d had too much to drink.

Still, Liang Yuanxing felt that “asking around” was a bit intrusive, so he finally told the owner to forget it.

Later that night, this unemployed youth with a chaotic sleep schedule sat by the window with his laptop. His camera still held photos taken by Duan Qingshen—of the hospital’s artificial lake. Perhaps his admiration for this man was so thick it could fill a dictionary, but he felt the photos were simply amazing.

He zoomed in and out, admiring them over and over.

After a long while, he suddenly remembered that after the piece “To the Northwest,” he’d never found any new work by Duan Qingshen. He’d thought Duan had simply stopped using his real name as a photographer, only to discover he’d become a doctor.

So why did he quit?

Liang Yuanxing pondered for a long time, then opened WeChat and clicked on the guesthouse owner’s chat. When he’d checked in, he’d added the owner as a friend for convenience—like extending his stay without going through the booking platform.

The owner’s nickname had a note after it: On duty.

Putting away his phone and laptop, Liang Yuanxing found himself unable to sleep and decided to go downstairs to chat with the owner.

“Here,” the owner had just made a cup of coffee. “This is for you.”

He was about to hand it over, then pulled it back. “Wait—people with wounds shouldn’t drink coffee. Forget it.”

Liang Yuanxing smiled, sitting at the bar, arms folded on the counter, sighing. The owner clicked his tongue, sipped his coffee, and set the cup down. “When I was in college, my roommate broke up with his high school sweetheart—he had exactly your expression.”

Liang Yuanxing looked over, a little bleak.

“Yes, that’s the look,” the owner said.

“I just feel unwilling,” Liang Yuanxing leaned back in his chair. “If I was going to miss out like this, I’d rather have never known it was him.”

“Let me help you find him,” the owner urged. “Don’t worry about him being bothered. If it comes to it, just confess and run—it’ll be worth it.”

Hearing this, Liang Yuanxing laughed quietly, about to say, Who does that? But instead, he took a deep breath. “I’ll wash my face and calm down before I decide.”

“Go ahead.”

The restroom was just around the corner from the bar.

It was a quarter past two in the morning.

Duan Qingshen entered the guesthouse’s lounge, saying he’d seen an available room online, and since his car was nearby, he’d come in to ask.

The owner took his ID, then explained that the listing hadn’t been updated—the available room had just been extended by a young man. Duan Qingshen nodded, understanding.

A minute later, as Duan was about to leave, a young man with a wet face emerged from behind the bar.

“Boss, where are the tissues?”

“Oh, we’re out. I’ll go get some…”

Suddenly, Liang Yuanxing turned his head, and the two locked eyes across the bar.

Duan Qingshen remembered who he was. “It’s you.”

“Yes.” Liang Yuanxing nodded, water dripping from his chin. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Duan Qingshen smiled at him.

The owner immediately understood, his eyes narrowing with a smile. “What a coincidence! It’s the middle of the night, and you’ve got nowhere else to go, right? Well, he’s the one who extended his stay—just share with him.”

“No need.” Duan Qingshen felt it might be too abrupt. “I’ll look elsewhere, thanks.”

“I don’t sleep much,” Liang Yuanxing cut in. “You can have the bed tonight. I’m quiet, I won’t disturb you.”

Hearing this, Duan Qingshen gave him a different look, scrutinizing him. “You lost a lot of blood when you were sent to the ER two days ago, and you’re still staying up late?”

Liang Yuanxing clamped his mouth shut, glancing from him to the owner.

The owner took the opportunity to persuade him. “You should talk some sense into him. Stay—the night is deep, and heading north is just deserted wilderness. Turning back into town would take another forty minutes by car—not worth it.”

It was true enough. Sixty kilometers north was the provincial border, and decent hotels were scarce. Duan Qingshen was a bit of a neat freak; otherwise, he wouldn’t have driven this far to this guesthouse.

He weighed his options, looked at Liang Yuanxing again, and asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all!” Liang Yuanxing’s eyes lit up. “Let’s share the bed!”

“Then I’ll pay half the room fee,” Duan Qingshen said.

“No need.” Liang Yuanxing reconsidered and changed his mind. “Alright, a hundred then.”

So they added each other on WeChat.

Following Liang Yuanxing upstairs, Duan Qingshen glanced down at his foot, but the stairway was dim and he couldn’t see how well it had healed. He wanted to say something about staying up so late while injured, but remembering he’d already resigned, he realized he had no right to lecture.

Liang Yuanxing’s room was on the second floor—a bed large enough for two adult men to sleep comfortably. The owner said there was an extra quilt in the wardrobe. Once inside, Duan Qingshen closed the door, set down his backpack, and went to wash his hands in the bathroom.

“You…” Duan Qingshen was startled. Opening the bathroom door, he found Liang Yuanxing standing right outside, as if he’d been waiting for him.

Liang Yuanxing raised his phone, lighting the screen to show him: “To the Northwest.”

Duan Qingshen was taken aback, then nodded.

“I really like your work,” Liang Yuanxing said.

There was a brief silence—two or three seconds, a touch awkward. It was inevitable, since the photo had been published three years before, and for three years, the photographer “Duan Qingshen” had vanished. If photography had left a scar on Duan Qingshen, then this moment was like tearing it open for inspection.

Fortunately, there was no wound left.

After a moment, Duan Qingshen smiled. “Thank you. But now, you should sleep.”

“Okay.” Liang Yuanxing nodded.

Twenty minutes later, after showering, Duan Qingshen lay down. The lights were off and the room was pitch dark. Liang Yuanxing couldn’t sleep, but didn’t dare make any big movements, so he was left with only little fidgets.

Duan Qingshen lay flat beside him, turned his head, and said evenly, “Sleep helps wounds heal.”

“I can’t sleep. I’m too excited.”

“You can be excited after you wake up.”

“It’s fine. I never sleep much anyway.”

Duan Qingshen picked up his phone from the nightstand and checked the time. Since Liang Yuanxing had kindly offered him a bed, he tried to persuade him gently, “Sunrise is in three hours. If you sleep now, it’s still not too late—everything is still possible. There’s still time to turn back.”