In those endless, colorless days, Lin Wan often recalled her grandmother's last words. Living well might no longer be possible, she thought—but at the very least, she could make sure she stayed alive.
Living, after all, was simple: follow the routine. Eat when it's time to eat, even if every bite tasted like wax; sleep when it's time to sleep, even if she needed alcohol or sleeping pills to make it happen; work when it's time to work…
So the day her medical leave ended, she tidied herself up and returned to work. Her field had always been somewhat biased against women, and decent job opportunities were scarce. Luckily, she had once done some part-time illustration work, and that experience helped her get into a mid-sized publishing house to draw illustrations for fiction magazines.
The pay wasn't much—she was still new, after all—but she was never one for luxury. Her long-absent father had even given her a small apartment as a graduation gift, saving her the rent. Life, though quiet, was manageable. Each day she drew and painted, letting her imagination roam free, and for a time, that made her feel almost content.
When Lin Wan stepped back into her office and saw the pile of unfinished files on her desk, she thought, Good. Keep busy. The busier, the better. But it wasn't that simple. Her eyes drifted to the green ivy flourishing in the corner—it was a gift from Wang Xiao. He'd said it purified the air. A cactus, he claimed, would have been better, but he'd worried the spines might hurt her.
Beside her monitor was a line of yellow sticky notes listing potential birthday gifts. His birthday was just around the corner. The enamel mug on her desk was identical to his; she'd once joked that a mug meant "a lifetime." He'd laughed, picked up both cups, and kissed the rims. "There," he'd said. "Now it's like we've kissed each other."
When someone has completely intertwined themselves into your life—become a part of your very being—and then leaves you so abruptly and painfully, you can't simply move on. You can't tear your life apart and extract that piece. You can only ache, remember, and keep walking through the pain.
Lin Wan tried to hold it in, but the tears came anyway. She ran into the restroom, locked herself in a stall, and cried silently until her whole body trembled. Then she splashed cold water on her face and whispered to her reflection, "Come on, Lin Wan. Pull yourself together."
Don't cry. He's watching you. He'd be heartbroken if he saw you like this.
There were still small mercies left in life. Milan had just returned from her honeymoon. When she heard the news, she rushed over immediately. Seeing her friend pale and frail, she couldn't stop the tears or the reproach.
"How could you not tell us something this big? Are we even your sisters anymore?"
Lin Wan, who had just vowed not to cry again, broke down completely in her arms. Milan's eyes reddened as she patted her back again and again. "Everything's going to be okay," she murmured.
Sisi also called long-distance. After a heartfelt talk, she promised to take Lin Wan on a trip when she came back, listing a dozen destinations for her to choose from.
With their comfort and companionship, the weight in Lin Wan's chest eased a little. Friends couldn't truly share your pain, but they could bring warmth and strength, a reminder that you weren't utterly alone.
Still, comfort was only temporary. The hardest part had to be faced alone. Lin Wan looked at the small square box wrapped in blue ribbon in her hand—a men's wristwatch she'd bought the day before the accident. Wang Xiao had liked it when he saw it in a magazine but said it was too expensive, that the money would be better saved for their honeymoon. She had only smiled then, secretly taken on extra work, and bought it anyway. She'd planned to surprise him. The box was still neatly wrapped, but it had become a gift she would never deliver.
That summer had been unusually rainy. One evening, it began to drizzle again—not heavy, but enough to make the streets feel deserted. By seven o'clock, the roads were nearly empty, only cars passing occasionally. A bus wobbled into the stop and halted. Only one passenger got off—Lin Wan.
She had just come from Wang Xiao's home. It was his birthday today, and she knew his parents must be in deep sorrow. She went to accompany them—perhaps her presence could share a little of their grief.
The moment she entered, she saw his black-and-white photo. The familiar lines of his face stared back at her; she could close her eyes and still recall every expression, every tone of his gentle voice.
"Hey, classmate, why is it so gloomy? You're wasting a perfect day!"
"Lin Wan, believe me—whatever's bothering you, I can make you smile in a second. Ahem, be my girlfriend."
"See? You smiled."
"I was serious, though."
"If you love a flower on a distant star, every night, you'll look up and feel happy—because all the stars seem to bloom with flowers."
"I read that somewhere. But that's exactly how I feel, Wanwan—you're my flower on that star."
Those words still echoed in her mind—yet the voice had vanished into another world. She traced the smile in the photo with her fingers. Bitterness rose in her chest. What they'd once believed was "a lifetime" had lasted only a fleeting moment.
Wang's parents looked even older than before. There was no grief deeper than losing a child. Lin Wan couldn't find words to comfort them. All she could do was hold their hands and say softly, "From now on, I'm your daughter too. I'll stay by your side—for him."
She stayed to share a silent meal before leaving. Her face felt stiff from forcing calm; everything was harder than she had imagined. She couldn't help crying again the moment she stepped outside. Just breathing the same air he had once breathed made her ache unbearably—but the doctor had warned that Wang's mother mustn't cry again, or she could lose her sight. So Lin Wan swallowed her own grief, doing everything she could to bring the couple a little peace, even if she knew it was futile.
She carried a heavy bag in one hand—Wang's mother had packed it full of nutritional supplements for her, saying she'd grown too thin. Lin hadn't the heart to refuse.
When she got off the bus, she realized it had started raining again. The umbrella Wang's mother had given her was still on the bus. She didn't mind; the drizzle matched her mood, soft and sorrowful. Lost in thought, she didn't notice the car creeping behind her at an oddly slow pace.
The rain suddenly grew heavier. In seconds, her hair and clothes were soaked. Then, as if fate were mocking her, the paper bag tore open and everything spilled onto the ground. Lin Wan bent to pick them up, but the rip was too large. Defeated, she dropped everything and squatted down, letting herself stay there.
Rain ran down her face, salty and bitter against her lips. Someone once said it's good to cry in the rain—no one can tell. But for her, it didn't matter anymore. The only person who'd cared whether she was crying or smiling was gone.
The rain above her suddenly stopped. A pair of polished black shoes appeared before her—untouched by mud despite the storm. Then strong arms slipped under hers and lifted her up. Her legs were numb from squatting too long; the world went black for a second, and she fell backward—into the stranger's hold.
She was so tired. The unexpected warmth made her want to lean on him, just for a moment—like before, when she could always find a safe harbor in her moments of weakness.
The faint scent of tobacco reached her. It was unfamiliar. She blinked, and under the streetlight saw the sharply defined face of Chen Jin. Rage surged through her. She tried to push him away, but his grip didn't loosen.
"Stop struggling. You're weak," he ordered in a low voice.
A bitter laugh escaped her. "Yeah? And whose fault is that?"
He said nothing. Guilty, maybe—but still he didn't let go. Lin Wan glared at him, her voice trembling with anger. "Why do you keep showing up in my life, Chen Jin? Don't you know I hate you? Every time I see you, I wish I could tear you apart—drink your blood, grind your bones—"
"I know," he said quietly.
"Then why are you here? What do you want from me?"
His answer came slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I want you."
Lin Wan froze, certain she'd misheard. But when she looked into his face, serious and intent, she realized she hadn't. Her mind went blank. Something in the air shifted—dangerous, suffocating. His face came closer. Too close.
What followed blurred into chaos—the sound of rain, the struggle of breath, the rough press of his presence. Her resistance met only the unyielding strength of someone who wouldn't stop. The black umbrella fell to the ground, open, its hollow circle facing the sky—witness to everything that happened in that rain-soaked street.
Panic surged through her. She tried to fight, but her limbs were weak, her strength long gone. The cold and exhaustion made her dizzy. Terror flooded her chest as she felt how easily he could overpower her—how completely she was at his mercy.
Her nails clawed at his back, desperate for escape. He hissed in pain and finally let her go. Without thinking, she stumbled away into the storm, but before she could run more than a few steps, he caught her again, pulling her back with brute force. Her scream cut through the rain—sharp, frightened, helpless.
The street was empty. Cars passed at a distance, splashing through puddles, unaware of what was unfolding under the streetlight—a moment of violence that would leave its mark long after the rain had stopped.