There are 365 days in a year, 366 in a leap year.
Most of these days are spent repeating the same things as the day before, but there are always some special days, marked by certain people or certain events.
No matter how many times these days are repeated, no matter how many years pass, they seem etched into your bones, carved into your heart.
Every year on this day, Xiao Qi would clear Sheng Jingchu’s schedule and book him a flight to Hangzhou.
With his hand still injured, Xiao Qi wanted to accompany him, but Sheng Jingchu refused.
Sheng Jingchu arrived at the airport alone. The weather was unusually good. He wondered if Hangzhou was the same.
When the sky was clear, it seemed so high and distant. Sitting by the window, he looked up at the sky, watching planes take off and land on the tarmac.
It was still early, so he closed his eyes. In the silence, he could almost hear the sound of his own heartbeat. He had once counted—it beat 72 times a minute, well within the normal range.
"Sir."
He heard someone calling him.
"Is someone sitting next to you?"
He opened his eyes to see Cheng Liao’s smiling face, close enough that he could see the soft, milk-white texture of her skin, like fresh cream.
She rubbed her face, which had grown a bit stiff from the cold, and sat down next to him, bringing with her the scent of fresh air.
"Sir," she asked with a bright smile, "I want to go to Hangzhou. Is this the right flight?"
He nodded.
"And sir, are you traveling alone? Could I sit next to you?"
He shook his head, his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "No, my girlfriend is with me."
Cheng Liao nodded, "Your girlfriend must be the most beautiful, cutest, and most understanding person in the world, right?"
He thought about it seriously. "I’m not sure about all that."
Then he added, "But I do know she’s the most self-praising person in the world."
Cheng Liao gave him a playful shove, but halfway through, she remembered his injured right arm and lightened her touch, gently adjusting his collar instead.
"Actually, even if your girlfriend weren’t here, I still couldn’t sit with you. I bought an economy class ticket."
She glanced at her ticket, looking a bit disappointed.
"That works out perfectly," Sheng Jingchu said, "Xiao Qi booked me an economy class ticket too."
Cheng Liao gasped in surprise, "Xiao Qi is so frugal?"
Sheng Jingchu shook his head and sighed, "He’s probably thinking ahead to when I’ll have to support a family, and since you have quite the appetite, the financial pressure will be heavy."
She noticed the letters engraved on his ring—LL, short for "Liao Liao," not CM for "greedy cat."
She laughed and nudged him, "Wow, you’ve become quite the liar."
On the plane, Cheng Liao went out of her way to switch seats with someone so she could sit next to Sheng Jingchu.
He seemed tired, leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed.
Cheng Liao started counting his eyelashes. One, two… by the time she reached thirty-two, his eyes fluttered open.
He must have dozed off because his gaze was cold and distant for an instant before it softened into a lazy smile when he realized who it was.
"What are you doing?"
"Counting your eyelashes," Cheng Liao replied earnestly. "There’s a legend that if you know the number of your lover’s eyelashes, you can tell the King of Hell when you reach the underworld. If the number is correct, he’ll allow you both to skip drinking Meng Po’s soup. That way, you’ll remember each other in the next life and become lovers again."
Sheng Jingchu closed his eyes again. "Then keep counting."
Cheng Liao counted the lashes on his left eye, then moved to the right. After finishing, she reported, "You have 141 eyelashes on your left eye and 142 on your right."
Sheng Jingchu opened his eyes, "Close your eyes. Now it’s my turn to count yours."
Cheng Liao pretended to close her eyes for a moment, then burst into giggles.
"You actually believed that?" she teased, opening her eyes. "I just saw it in a drama. The female lead said she read a book where the heroine could count the hero’s eyelashes, and she thought that meant the heroine really loved the hero. So she tried counting the hero’s eyelashes. When I watched it, I thought, they must have a lot of free time."
Sheng Jingchu gestured for her to stay still and began counting her lashes.
Her eyelashes were distinct, not very long but dense.
"No one, no matter how free they are, would count a stranger’s eyelashes," he said while counting. "This kind of seemingly time-wasting activity is only done with someone who matters."
Indeed, in a relationship, there aren’t many grand, earth-shattering moments. It’s the accumulation of these small, everyday things that make up the memories and form the foundation of the bond.
With her eyes closed, Cheng Liao gradually drifted off to sleep. She had been very busy at work lately, sometimes working late into the night, and on weekends, she would go to take care of Sheng Jingchu. With so little time, she had to cut into her sleep.
Half-asleep, she felt herself leaning against something, and as her neck found support, she fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke up, the plane was already descending.
She realized she had been resting on Sheng Jingchu’s shoulder.
Lingering there for a moment, she stretched with a big yawn, revealing the tip of her bright red tongue.
Seeing her awake, he recited, "‘Slay the crowing rooster, banish the cawing crow. May the night never end, let the year be one long morning.’"
He didn’t particularly love poetry, but he read it often because his lack of enthusiasm for it allowed him to stop whenever he wanted. However, the more he read, the more he remembered. He was especially struck by these lines, and at that moment, they seemed fitting.
"Is it similar to 'Kill all the crows in the world'?" she asked.
"Kill all the crows in the world, and I’ll sleep with you until dawn."
This was a line from a Japanese waka.
Whether it was waka or Southern Dynasty poetry, there was always a sense of regret for the fleetingness of time.
She sat up and gently punched his shoulder, "Sounds like you’re worried I’m not getting enough sleep."
He gently stroked her hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear without saying a word.
After disembarking, they took a car to Banshan Cemetery.
December 3rd was the anniversary of Sheng Jingchu’s parents' death.
They stopped at a flower shop at the foot of the mountain, and Sheng Jingchu chose some orchids.
Cheng Liao guessed that this might have been his mother’s favorite flower.
December in Hangzhou was damp and cold, with layers of clouds hanging low. The wind, though not as biting as in the north, was strong enough to swirl the fallen leaves on the ground before slamming them back down with a whooshing sound.
Sheng Jingchu’s parents’ grave was on the mountain. As they walked up the steps, which were a bit steep, Cheng Liao took the flowers from Sheng Jingchu’s hand and held his hand.
He intertwined their fingers and walked briskly.
The tombstone had pictures of Sheng Jingchu’s parents.
Sheng Jingchu resembled his father, both having long, gentle eyes, but his lips were like his mother’s—thin, beautiful, and elegantly shaped.
He placed the flowers in front of the grave and bowed to his parents.
Cheng Liao followed his lead, paying her respects, then stepped back to give him some privacy, turning to look at the mountain scenery.
In this season, the mountains were barren and desolate.
Looking down, all she could see were rows of gravestones. In a place like this, it was hard not to feel melancholic, to think that life was like a brief play—one performs, laughs, and when tired, bows out, becoming a thin photograph, a memory for others.
She had learned from Xiao Qi that Sheng Jingchu was returning to Hangzhou to visit the graves. She felt she needed to be there with him. He had always been alone, but with her by his side, maybe he would feel a little less lonely.
Sheng Jingchu stood in front of the tombstone for a long time, speaking words that could only be said to his parents.
Whether in life or death.
He introduced Cheng Liao to his parents, and when she focused on listening, he had already reached his final words: "We’ll come back every year from now on."
Cheng Liao wanted to comfort him but found that any words she could say felt hollow.
So instead, she brought up the topic of feng shui: "This is a good spot—nestled against the mountain and near water, it’s beneficial for future generations."
She began telling a story about a feng shui master from her hometown: "He was really skilled. He never missed a weather prediction, and everyone would consult him for relocating graves. One year, the snow was so heavy that the ground was completely frozen. He took a family to find a burial spot and pointed to a piece of land, saying, 'Here’s the place.' When they started digging, that was the only spot where the ground wasn’t frozen solid. They dug a perfectly rectangular grave just as he predicted."
Sheng Jingchu asked, "Isn't it possible that someone had loosened the soil beforehand? They could have picked the spot in advance, dug up the soil when no one was around, and then packed it back down. When the family came to dig, it would have been easy."
Cheng Liao was momentarily at a loss for words and scratched her head. "You know, that actually makes sense."
As they were chatting, an elderly man approached. His hair was completely white, and his back was severely hunched, but his posture was still straight. He was wearing a dark green down jacket, which had a tear revealing some of the feathers inside. In his hand, he held a flower basket, carefully examining each tombstone until he stopped in front of Sheng Jingchu’s parents’ grave.
Both Sheng Jingchu and Cheng Liao recognized the man—Xie Hanzhou.
In just a few months, it seemed as though he had aged ten years.
He placed the flower basket down and stared at the orchid bouquet in front of the tombstone with a puzzled expression.
He murmured to himself, "I came to see you. Although we never met, your son is my disciple, so we’re practically family. I used to come here every year, but now my memory isn’t as good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to remember in the future."
He seemed to want to say more but stood there in silence for a long time, as if he couldn’t recall what he wanted to say.
Cheng Liao and Sheng Jingchu stood quietly behind him, unnoticed.
After a while, he turned around.
Cheng Liao called out, "Mr. Xie."
Xie Hanzhou leaned in closer to Cheng Liao, squinting as he tried to recognize her. With a sigh, he asked, "Young lady, do you know who I am?"
Cheng Liao felt a pang of sadness, and her words got stuck in her throat.
Sheng Jingchu stepped forward to support him. "Teacher."
When Xie Hanzhou saw Sheng Jingchu, a smile of surprise spread across his face. "Jingchu, are you here to pay your respects?" He tightly grasped Sheng Jingchu’s hand, which was trembling.
After a moment of thought, he quietly said to Sheng Jingchu, "Jingchu, do you still remember the way to my house?" A look of embarrassment crossed his face as he added, "I can’t seem to remember how to get back."
Xie Hanzhou’s home was not far from Banshan Cemetery—a small, old two-story house with a tiny courtyard, but the main hall was quite spacious. As soon as the door opened, the chilly atmosphere inside hit them.
Xie Hanzhou’s wife had passed away five years ago, and two of his three sons lived in other cities.
The house was sparsely furnished, with a Go board on the table and Go pieces scattered on the floor. The bookshelves were filled with Go manuals, their edges curled from use.
Above the bookshelf hung a series of photographs, including ones with his wife and children. The largest photo showed Xie Hanzhou surrounded by his disciples, smiling warmly and kindly.
In the photo, Sheng Jingchu stood to Xie Hanzhou’s right, his face still showing signs of youth, appearing to be just seventeen or eighteen years old. His expression was calm and composed, already displaying a maturity beyond his years.
Cao Xihe stood on Xie Hanzhou’s left, mischievously making rabbit ears behind Xie Hanzhou’s head with a grin on his face, looking like a little rascal.
The other disciples were younger, with the youngest being cradled in Xie Hanzhou’s arms, wide-eyed with curiosity—the last disciple Xie Hanzhou took under his wing.
Cheng Liao picked up the photo, examining it closely, and wiped the dust off the glass.
Xie Hanzhou smiled with a touch of nostalgia as he took the frame from her, pointing out each disciple.
"Jingchu had a slight fever on the day we took this photo. I gave him an aspirin, and he told me he took it, but I saw him throw it into the yard. I didn’t say anything at the time," he winked at Cheng Liao with a hint of mischief. "I actually put the medicine in the spinach soup. And that rascal Cao Xihe—he tore up my favorite Go manual and wouldn’t admit it. I didn’t bother scolding him… The youngest one wouldn’t take the photo unless I bought him a Transformer. That day, a reporter from CCTV came for an interview, and it was rare to get everyone together. This photo turned out really well."
He placed the photo back and looked at Sheng Jingchu. "Jingchu, how about we make some wontons?"
Back when Xie Hanzhou had many disciples, the house was always noisy, and meals were hard to prepare. His wife was too busy to help care for the children, so Xie Hanzhou would make wontons for them.
With so many kids, the work went quickly. The boys would laugh and chat while making the wontons, and they always made extra to freeze for later.
Xie Hanzhou told Cheng Liao and Sheng Jingchu to wait at home while he went out to buy meat. However, they couldn’t bear to let him go alone, so they accompanied him to the market.
He asked for lean pork, mumbling to himself, "Lanlan doesn’t like fatty meat, not even a little bit."
After buying the ingredients, they returned home. Cheng Liao chopped the filling while Sheng Jingchu and Xie Hanzhou wrapped the wontons.
Xie Hanzhou reminisced, "It’s much easier now—you can just buy wonton wrappers. Back then, we had to make the dough from scratch. It was a hassle."
He looked at Sheng Jingchu. "His wonton wrappers were the best—so thin they were almost translucent."
Cheng Liao made a face at Sheng Jingchu. "I wouldn’t have guessed."
Sheng Jingchu remained expressionless, though a hint of pride showed in the corners of his eyes. "I wasn’t born with an assistant, you know."
After dinner, Sheng Jingchu took Cheng Liao to see his old bedroom.
To be precise, it was the room he had shared with Cao Xihe.
Two single beds with a table between them.
The room had been vacant for a long time, with a slight mustiness, but it was spotlessly clean, indicating that Xie Hanzhou often tidied up.
Against the wall was a large bookshelf filled with trinkets. Cheng Liao spotted a small porcelain rabbit and a plastic duck that squeaked when squeezed.
She laughed and waved the duck at Sheng Jingchu. "Did you play with this when you were little?"
Sheng Jingchu kept a straight face. "That’s Cao Xihe’s."
Xie Hanzhou happened to walk in just then and, seeing the duck in Cheng Liao’s hand, began to reminisce.
"This was part of a set of six. I gave it to Jingchu for his birthday. He loved them and even slept with them at night."
Cheng Liao grinned and teased Sheng Jingchu, "Oh really..."
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