Life gradually calmed down. I began following a regular routine again—attending classes, studying, reviewing. Everything seemed to have returned to the life I had once longed for.
After our disappearance in the mountains, the news of Xu Zirong and Qiu Lu’s conditions had already spread at school. I heard that some counselors even used our case to educate younger students on safety, warning them not to venture into the mountains without proper precautions.
If our misfortune could serve as a warning to others, I thought, that would be something positive.
The only disruption was that Wen Lingyu and I had silently decided to forgo the guaranteed graduate research program that Teacher Ye had offered. I never asked her why, and as for myself… after seeing Qiu Lu and Xu Zirong, I couldn’t bring myself to accept the offer with a clear conscience.
That evening, I received an unexpected phone call.
After senior year began, my schedule had become much lighter. With no afternoon classes, I had spent the day in the library. By the time I left, night had fallen. A few days ago, I had moved out of my dorm and into a small apartment I had purchased earlier.
I called it a “home,” but in truth, it was just a label. It held no real significance for me.
Having planned to stay in Yancheng long-term, I had used my savings to buy a modest two-bedroom apartment in a convenient downtown location. My parents had always been generous with money; as long as I asked, they never refused.
The city lights were now ablaze. Neon signs stacked layer upon layer on the streets, reminding me strangely of the distant ridges in the Miao mountains. The aroma of fried food drifted from somewhere, making my stomach rumble. On the streets, live-streamers and small vendors gathered crowds, creating a lively atmosphere.
Perhaps some people were meant to live amid the crowds, while others were destined for solitude.
“Ding—ding—”
My new phone rang with a shrill, unpleasant ringtone. I pulled it from my pocket. The screen displayed three characters: “Li Shaoheng.”
I felt a flicker of surprise, but deeper than that, an inexplicable anticipation.
“Hello, Dad…” I started.
Before I could finish, a cold, commanding voice interrupted.
“Li Yuze, I already know what happened. I have five minutes. I don’t want to waste my words with you.”
My heart skipped. Could it be that my father had learned I had been missing in the mountains and was reaching out to express concern?
But his tone remained cold and unyielding. There was no trace of care or affection in it.
Then his words froze me in place.
“Why did you give up Teacher Ye’s graduate program? I know that project; it’s supported by the state and would be extremely beneficial for an undergrad like you. His graduate students compete to participate. Teacher Ye saw potential in you and offered you this chance, yet you can’t grasp it! Are you really my son, Li Shaoheng’s child?”
Each sentence weighed heavily on my heart, sinking it deeper and deeper.
“Is that all you called for?” I asked.
“Do you know how precious my time is? I have an academic conference to attend shortly. If it weren’t for you…”
“Have you never worried I might be in danger? Even though it’s been half a year since we last spoke?” I cut in boldly.
Perhaps my voice was too loud, or perhaps my tone betrayed too much resentment and defiance; passersby glanced at me.
His voice remained cool and mechanical. “What could happen to you? You’re a man now, not a child. When I was your age, I had already established my own career!”
Of course… he had no idea that I had been missing in the mountains for five months.
He was so absorbed in his academic pursuits, and his wife shared his interests; he had no thought to worry about his troublesome son from a previous marriage.
I should have expected this. My earlier hope had been laughable.
Seeing me silent, he continued on his own: “I forbid you from giving up that program. Go back to Teacher Ye. I’m doing this for your own good, Li Yuze. Keep your mind clear…”
“Am I not capable?” I said coldly. “Or uninterested? Or unwilling? You only care about how good that project is, but no matter how good, it isn’t right for your son!”
“Stop talking nonsense…”
Before he could finish, a gentle, soft voice came through the line: “Shaoheng, it’s your turn.”
The line went dead, leaving only a busy signal. Not even a goodbye.
I set the phone down, a wave of helplessness washing over me.
I was in the busiest part of the city, surrounded by throngs of mostly young men and women. Some walked hand in hand, others laughed in pairs, each finding their place. I, solitary, felt out of place.
Everyone brushed past me, but I couldn’t call a single one of them by name. In that moment, tears welled in my eyes.
I didn’t know why I was crying.
As a child, when my mother left me and went abroad, I didn’t cry.
As a teenager, when I fell from the stairs and broke my leg, alone at home, no one to help or care for me, I didn’t cry.
But now, alone on a crowded street, I felt a profound sense of confusion, grievance, and loneliness. Tears came unbidden, trying to overwhelm me.
I didn’t want to cry on the street—it would make me seem weak, pitiful, exposed to everyone.
I sniffled hard and hurried toward my apartment complex.
Once home, I tossed my belongings onto the sofa and then collapsed onto it myself.
Suddenly, I remembered I hadn’t bought dinner. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, reminding me I needed to eat. But lying on the soft sofa, I didn’t want to move.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something tossed in the trash—a plain little object. Squinting, I realized it was the sachet Shen Jianqing had given me.
It had always hung around my neck. I had grown used to it, even brought it home with me.
Yesterday, I had taken it off and casually thrown it in the trash. But now, seeing it lying there so forlorn, I felt an inexplicable tug at my heart.
It was like a marker, a sign of that dark past. I should have completely drawn a line under it, stepping fully into a bright, new life.
Yet, without thinking, I found myself picking it out of the trash.
What am I doing?!
I was about to toss this hot potato away, but in the next moment, I hesitated.
I decided to keep it, telling myself silently: let it serve as a lesson for me.