Chapter 19 : The Strawberry Cake

Qining had always thought that she and Jiang Yanlin first met at a friend’s party.

But for Jiang Yanlin, that wasn’t their true first meeting.

In an early summer long before that, in a shrine park in a foreign land, the last of the late cherry blossoms had fallen in a final rain of flowers.

Jiang Yanlin sat under a tree, engrossed in her work, so focused that she didn’t even notice when someone else arrived in the deserted corner.

And the other person, likewise, did not see her.

A single tree divided two worlds. One person sat under it, the other stood under it, like people from two different worlds.

It wasn’t until a hand lightly held a bow and drew a melodious tune from the strings that the person under the tree was startled.

Jiang Yanlin took off one of her wireless earbuds and tilted her head to listen to the melody coming from behind her.

The tune gracefully echoed the melody in her other ear, so perfectly in sync that it was hard to tell them apart.

The name of that piece was “Wind Vanishes in the Green Fields.”

In the many sleepless nights that followed, Jiang Yanlin placed a vintage record player on her windowsill, put that limited-edition record on, but only listened to the first track.

During the rainy season, as the rain pattered against the floor-to-ceiling windows, she would curl up on her beanbag chair and, to the sound of the rain and the tune spinning from the record player, slowly fall asleep.

Her friends had asked her why she would fly internationally to Massachusetts alone, for a round trip of just three days, all to attend a concert.

Jiang Yanlin didn’t answer, only asking back,
“When have I ever done anything that wasn’t on a whim?”

But her friends didn’t know, and Qining never knew either.

Jiang Yanlin’s feelings for Qining were never a whim.

If you had spent ten years loving a certain style of music.

If, among the fragments of those notes, you often saw a name without a face or age.

If, at the beginning of one chance summer, you finally, in an unexpected form and medium, held a handful of fallen petals and notes in your palm.

Every tune, so familiar.

Yet strange and new.

None of that should be called a “whim.”

It was already one in the afternoon when she got up.

After washing up, Jiang Yanlin made herself a cup of Thai red tea. As she put down the tea tin, she remembered it was a gift from Xiao You.

For those two weeks, they had slept in the same hotel room, saying good night and good morning to each other, but there was no longer a single spark of desire between them.

After turning off the lights at night, they would even talk about the people and things they had encountered since they had parted ways.

Xiao You’s father had just passed away. She hadn’t fully recovered from it yet. Sometimes she would turn over and ask Jiang Yanlin,
“If I had never met you, what would my life be like?”

Her Chinese always had a Hong Kong accent, but her voice was soft, as if it carried a hint of sweetness.

Jiang Yanlin would turn over as well and hold her in her arms.

“I thought you actually hated me,” she would whisper into the top of Xiao You’s head.

They had started so absurdly and ended so abruptly. For a cold person, it was just another day, but all that was left was a devastated soul.

But Xiao You would bury her head in her shoulder and say in a muffled voice,
“I never hated you.”

She rarely said these things, but this time she said a lot.

“You appeared when I was at my most lost. You taught me how to get back on track. You always encouraged me to live well, eat well, make good money, and save up for my own tuition to go to university.”

Her voice was light and airy, but Jiang Yanlin heard it all too clearly.

“If I hadn’t met you, I’d probably still be lost now, sleeping all day and either playing games or going to bars at night.”

She finished by saying, “Sometimes, to me, you were not just someone I loved, but also my life mentor.”

After returning from Hokkaido, Jiang Yanlin knew that this was her final farewell to herself.

There was no maudlin sentimentality, just a silent, traceless return to their respective worlds.

Jiang Yanlin packed away all these gifts at the bottom of a trunk. In the future, she would rarely revisit them.

Just like the day she decided to leave, she knew they would both fall in love with someone else, embark on the next journey, so she never had the obsession to look back.

Chen Yuran always reminded Jiang Yanlin of Xiao You.

The same age when they met, a natural, unripe allure, wandering lost in the cryptic world of adults, as if one wrong step would lead to eternal damnation.

But Jiang Yanlin also knew that what she was really seeing was a much younger version of herself.

Always standing melancholically at the crossroads of fate, not knowing whether to go forward or back, left or right.

Whether she had longed for someone to take her hand and lead her back then, Jiang Yanlin couldn’t really remember.

She was just grateful—”thankfully, I am who I am now, and thankfully, I have made many mistakes.”

Human curiosity about the unknown is always hard to resist.

Jiang Yanlin didn’t know if Péi Wanyi would be a “mistake” that would give her an upset stomach, but when she picked up her phone and saw the message, she let instinct take over.

Anyone who enjoys flirting knows that the point of a conversation is never the conversation itself.

It’s the speed of the reply, the attitude of the reply, and the amount of information in the reply.

Until the evening, Jiang Yanlin was both writing copy at her computer and replying to this long, ongoing chat.

A question, an answer, then another question.

From what time they woke up, to what they were busy with, to the small details of their lives, everything revolved around the exchange of information itself.

[“Your nails are very pretty.”]

When Jiang Yanlin opened the chat and saw this message, she lifted her hand to look at her fingers.

Neatly trimmed, so as not to interfere with “work” at any time.

So Jiang Yanlin casually typed a sentence: “There are only two things in this world that make me cut my nails. One is work.”

It took a while for the other person to reply. [“I like cutting people’s nails.”]

Jiang Yanlin raised an eyebrow. After a moment, she picked up the several lipstick samples waiting to be reviewed, twisted them open one by one, and drew a line of color on the back of her clean, pale hand.

Finally, she took a photo and sent it.

[“Help me pick a shade.”]

The artist, however, replied,
[“I’m a straight guy. I think they all look good.”]

A second later, another message popped up. [“Your hand is also very pretty.”]

Of course it would look good, with the carefully chosen angle and lighting.

Jiang Yanlin smiled, wiped it off with a makeup remover wipe, and continued writing her review copy.

The end of one topic can only be caught by the beginning of another, so it doesn’t fall to the ground.

Miss Péi sent another message.
[“I queued up a song last night, but I didn’t get to hear you sing it.”]

Jiang Yanlin’s fingers tapped lightly on the keyboard as she replied,
[“I like listening to you sing.”]

So the topic shifted to music. This time, they had clearly found a genuine interest, and the focus was finally on the topic itself.

Péi Wanyi shared two songs with her, a foreign pop song. Jiang Yanlin saved it to her backup account, planning to listen later.

[“I want to hear you sing next time.”]

When this message popped up, Jiang Yanlin propped her chin on her hand and didn’t reply for a moment.

The Bluetooth speaker was playing instrumental lofi music, soothing the transition from dusk to night. It was already dinner time, but Jiang Yanlin had no appetite.

So she lightly changed the subject: [“What are you planning to eat?”]

Péi Wanyi sent a photo of a sugar-free energy drink.

Jiang Yanlin didn’t drink much soda, but the conversation could still continue.
—Because the topic was never the point of interest.

After a few rounds of “why are you only drinking soda and not eating,” someone finally got tired of going in circles.

Jiang Yanlin got up from her desk, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window with her phone, and pressed the voice message button to record a sentence: “There’s no gathering tonight. I’m actually not used to it.”

After sending the voice message, she stood by the window and looked at the night view for a while. Her phone vibrated. She unhurriedly opened the new message.

The same voice message, not long, but sincere enough.

[“Come have a gathering with me.”]
– From Mavis.

The summer night stars were hidden in the scattered lights of the city. When the wind blew, it was like a soft glow spreading out.

Jiang Yanlin had rarely taken out her contact lenses, and now she wore her work glasses with thin frames. She put on a long-sleeved shirt and pants, and before leaving, she didn’t forget to bring the washed gray jacket.

Péi Wanyi was still on that motorcycle, leaning against it with her arms crossed, waiting for her.

Seeing Jiang Yanlin carrying a reusable bag, she asked, “What did you bring?”

Jiang Yanlin glanced at her and replied with a straight face, “Wine that’s been sitting around for over half a year.”

It had indeed been sitting for quite a while.

Péi Wanyi let out a laugh, took the bag, and handed her the helmet.

Then a hand reached out, a hand was taken, and with a familiar motion, she got on the bike, wrapping her arms around the warm waist.

This time, the way there was no longer unfamiliar.

The summer night wind tousled the stray hairs under her helmet. The speeding motorcycle carried an unspoken implication, leaving behind a gray exhaust trail that took a long time to dissipate.

Péi Wanyi’s shampoo always seemed to have the same scent. Jiang Yanlin caught the hint of mint, which made the wind feel even cooler.

Under the mottled lights of the traffic, Jiang Yanlin remembered the song playing in the pub last night.

She hadn’t yet been in a hurry to search for the lyrics that followed.

Have you ever had a strawberry cake?

Fresh cream, just the right amount of sweetness, topped with a fresh, sweet-and-sour strawberry.

You hold the cake fork, hesitating between the top and the bottom. Do you dig in from the bottom, or cut down from the top?

You are careful and focused in order to savor every soft, sweet bite of the cream and cake, to save that last bite with the strawberry perfectly intact.

So, you can’t be hasty, you can’t be careless.

Too much sweetness, and the last bite will be too sour.

Eat that sour bite too early, and the rest will be cloyingly sweet.

The mountain road wound, and the motorcycle drifted around a corner, once again revealing the true face of the entire city.

Jiang Yanlin looked up from her thoughts. Through her thin-framed glasses, the familiar scenery seemed somewhat new.
—This was the seventh day since she had met Péi Wanyi.