Back to Auntie’s School Days - Chapter 42

Tan Yanqing’s voice was very soft—so soft that her tone seemed to carry a hint of grievance intended only for Jian Hao’s ears. Even in her slightly narrowed eyes, there was a stillness, as if she were trying to see through something.

Jian Hao froze.

But in an instant, Tan Yanqing’s eyes curved slightly. “Mhm?”

The lazy intonation made it seem as though she were merely expressing simple curiosity about Jian Hao’s strange behavior tonight.

Another red light. Not only did the car stop, but time inside the cabin seemed to stand still as well. Not just inside; even outside, Jian Hao’s ears experienced a moment of absolute silence.

“It’s nothing…” Only after the car started moving again did Jian Hao lower her eyes and speak. “It’s just that people at school found out about me running away. At school, people are always giving me second looks. It makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Jian Hao chose a reason that truly was bothering her. It wasn’t exactly a lie to Tan Yanqing.

Tan Yanqing went silent for two seconds before saying, “Mhm. If the heat surrounding your disappearance hadn’t been suppressed, it wouldn’t just be the school; probably everyone in Bataan, and everyone on the internet, would know.”

Jian Hao’s heart skipped a beat; she definitely didn’t want to be discussed online.

“But it’s no different from anything else on the internet. Everyone has their own lives; day after day, people will gradually stop mentioning it. For now, there’s no need to care about the stares of others, especially the unimportant ones… You have your own path to walk.”

What about you?

Jian Hao’s nose suddenly stung.

Auntie Tan, what about your path? Where did you end up going?

“Here.”

What?

Jian Hao looked up to see Tan Yanqing’s right hand flick backward, tossing a package into her lap. It was a bag of candy. She didn’t know where it had been pulled from.

The car drove onto a darker street, and the light falling into the cabin became pitifully sparse. But even in this gray, dim light, Jian Hao could see what kind of candy it was.

—Suanniu (Sour Girl).

“Eat some candy when you’re in a bad mood, and you’ll feel better.”

Tan Yanqing’s light voice drifted back from the front seat.

Jian Hao’s heart instinctively twitched, and an unspeakable, bitter ache choked her throat. She carefully picked up the bag of candy and tore it open. She had intended to just tear a small corner, but her hand shook, and she tore it straight down the middle. Fortunately, Tan Yanqing was driving steadily, or more than half would have spilled out. Even so, two pieces accidentally tumbled onto her lap. Jian Hao kept her lashes lowered as she picked up the two candies from her leg and popped them into her mouth.

Lately, she hadn’t had much of an appetite. Two bites of anything and she felt full. Tonight was no exception. Northeast Chinese portions are massive; they hadn’t realized this when they ordered five dishes. Five huge plates came out, each looking vibrant and tempting. When the three of them couldn’t finish it, Guan Xinting urged everyone to eat more, but Jian Hao only took two bites before saying she was full and not hungry.

These days, her mouth had felt devoid of flavor.

Bland and dull, like the gray-blue sky before a heavy rain.

The moment the sour powder hit her tongue, the tartness coursed through her body like an electric current. Her tongue went numb.

Sour!

Like a teenage impulse, a failed confession.

Sour!

Like finally finding out that the person who hurt you was actually me.

Sour!

Like a departure without a goodbye.

Sour! Sour! Sour!

Like knowing someone looked for you and waited for you for seventeen years.

The roots of her lashes felt damp. Jian Hao kept her head down, not daring to look up for a second, fearing Tan Yanqing would catch the abnormality. She gripped the bag of candy tightly. As soon as the sour taste in her mouth faded and she was about to taste the sweetness, she quickly pulled out another and stuffed it in.

Before long, her mouth was bulging, stuffed with over a dozen candies. It was so sweet she felt a little sick. Not a normal sweetness, but a cloying, greasy sweetness that felt nauseating.

It tasted completely different from the ones she’d had in 2008! And different from the ones she’d eaten before traveling back! Was it not made by the same factory? Or was it that things eaten in the present could never capture the flavor of memory…

People miss childhood snacks, but they are really just missing that period of time.

Carefree and free-spirited.

But repeated nostalgia is just like “carving a mark on a boat to find a sword dropped in the water”—a futile search for something left behind by time.

There was a box of tissues in the pocket behind the car seat. Jian Hao reached out, pulled five or six sheets at once, folded them together, and pressed them to her lips, spitting all the cloying, sweet candies onto the paper.

“Pah!” One sound wasn’t enough; she even made a retching sound. “This tastes terrible!”

Her reaction was exaggerated, as if it really were the worst thing ever. She pulled another tissue, wrapped up the remaining candy and the ones she’d spit out, and said, “It’s not even half as good as what I ate when I was a kid! Auntie, don’t buy this anymore. It’s all food coloring and saccharine; it’s bad for you.”

After finishing, she made two more “pah-pah” sounds as if she couldn’t stand the taste.

Throughout the entire sequence, she never looked up.

She didn’t dare see Tan Yanqing’s reaction.

But she could almost imagine it: Tan Yanqing definitely wouldn’t have much of a reaction. She was reserved, resilient, and tolerant. Even if Jian Hao disparaged her candy, she wouldn’t show an angry expression.

Jian Hao didn’t dare look up; the person she truly didn’t dare look at was Tan Yanqing.

After an unknown amount of time, Tan Yanqing’s steady, unhurried voice sounded: “It’s not like it’s your first time eating it. Is it really that unbearable? Also, haven’t I taught you since you were little not to waste food?”

Tan Yanqing dropped her off at the apartment building. In the past, she would always ask if Tan Yanqing was in a hurry to get back; if not, she’d ask her to come up and sit for a while. Back then, she was always reluctant to part with Tan Yanqing, wishing she could follow her home and live there! Occasionally, she had actually done just that.

But tonight, after a hasty “Drive safely, Auntie,” she scrambled out of the car.

The night wind was strong, blowing her hair into a mess and blowing her heart off course. She didn’t bother smoothing her hair; she hurried home, walking faster and faster until she broke into a run, all the way to the elevator.

When she stepped into the elevator, she was alone.

The bright but narrow, enclosed space felt exactly like her current emotions—clear on everything yet with nowhere to vent.

The elevator was a room where every side but the floor was a mirror, reflecting a person with all their flaws exposed. Jian Hao looked at herself in the silver mirrors and realized that, at some point, four tear tracks had appeared on her face.

Two had been dried by the wind.

Two were fresh marks she’d just left.

As she reached her floor, Jian Hao raised her arm and used her school jacket sleeve to wipe her eyes. She couldn’t let Jian You see her crying, or her mother would worry. If she could give a reason, it would be fine, but if she could say nothing, Jian You would definitely go and ask Tan Yanqing.

What could Tan Yanqing even say? That people were talking about her at school and she couldn’t handle it? Or simply that she didn’t know. After all, tonight’s version of her must have seemed very bizarre to Tan Yanqing.

Or perhaps Jian You wouldn’t ask; she’d just assume she was crying because Tan Yanqing had rejected her again…

Regardless, she couldn’t let Jian You see her cry.

But why? The more she wiped, the more the tears came. A large patch of her sleeve was soaked. Looking at the school uniform design, which was completely different from 2008, Jian Hao started thinking again.

After she disappeared, how did Tan Yanqing get through it?

Officer Han said she went to that elm tree every day to wait for an answer, even in the wind and rain… Why was she so foolish? Didn’t she know that if she really were in that timeline, it would be impossible for her not to look for her?

Jian Hao could lose anything in this life, but she could never lose Tan Yanqing.

When the elevator reached her floor, her tears still weren’t dry. Fearing a neighbor or a suddenly-emerging Jian You might see her in the hallway, she ducked into the stairwell alone. She crouched behind the stairwell door, burying her head in her arms, sobbing in suppressed pain.

Only when she had cried until her eyes felt as dry as a desert did she prop herself against the wall and stand up. She let the numbness in her legs fade before heading home.

As soon as she entered, Jian You was sitting on the sofa looking at her phone. Seeing her back, she walked over.

“That was fast! Tan Yanqing only messaged two minutes ago saying you’d got out of the car.”

Jian Hao had let her hair down when she came in, pulling it forward to shield her face. Jian You couldn’t see her expression. She looked down to change her shoes, trying her best to suppress the sob in her voice as she said calmly, “Mom, I really want an apple. Could you wash one for me and leave it on the table? I’ll eat it after my shower.”

Once she had sent Jian You away, Jian Hao looked up into the entryway mirror. Seeing her eyes swollen like walnut kernels, she hurried back to her room to apply a wet wipe to them.

Except for the summer and winter break diaries assigned by primary school teachers, Jian Hao had never kept a journal. Even those assignments were usually crammed into the last two or three days of break, making up two or three sentences for each day just to get by.

But sitting at her desk doing homework after her shower, she suddenly felt like writing something.

She pulled out a black leather notebook. It was a reward Tan Yanqing had received from the police department years ago for being named an Outstanding Officer. Jian Hao had asked for it. The notebook was bulging, like a little fat person. Inside were tucked movie tickets from every film she’d seen with Tan Yanqing and receipts from things they’d done together, yet it was still blank. She had treasured this book, reluctant to use it; every time she saw it, it felt like seeing Tan Yanqing. (Not that she was calling Tan Yanqing a “little fat person.”)

Though she didn’t like keeping a diary, she knew the format. The most important part was the date. She didn’t write on the first page, fearing someone might see, but turned to a random page in the middle and wrote:

2008

I’m sorry.

2009

I’m sorry.

2010

I’m sorry.

…

2025

I’m sorry.

The pen tip hovered over the paper for a moment.

2026

I’m sorry.

2027

I’m sorry.

“…”

Am I going to spend my whole life saying ‘sorry’ to Tan Yanqing?

Jian Hao crossed out “2026” and “2027” and closed the book.

Is there any way to make it up to her?

After finishing her homework and lying in bed, just as she was about to fall asleep, a thought suddenly struck her: both times she traveled, it happened after she had been drinking.

So, was the key element of time travel getting drunk?

If she got drunk again, would there be another chance to cross time? Could she travel back to 2008, or any year in between, to find Tan Yanqing as “Jian Lai”?

But what if the time she traveled to wasn’t 2008, but before 2008 or after 2025?

…Regardless, this seemed like the best way to comfort Tan Yanqing and save her from those many years of waiting. She had to be bold and give it a try.

The more she thought about it, the more excited she became; her mind was so sharp that all sleepiness vanished. Jian Hao got out of bed and went to the living room.

Jian You was already asleep.

Jian Hao went to the wine cabinet. To ensure a successful crossing, she did exactly what she had on her birthday: took an opened bottle of red wine, sat at the dining table with the same glass, wearing the same pajamas, and drank until she was drunk.

And in the second before her consciousness was completely swallowed by the alcohol, a blurry question surfaced in her mind:

In all these years, why did her mom and Auntie Tan never think she looked like Jian Lai?