Back to Auntie’s School Days - Chapter 48

Tan Yanqing’s hand, resting on Jian Hao’s shoulder, stiffened.

Jian Hao’s sobs were like the persistent pitter-patter of rain dripping from the eaves. Someone standing inside the house can only watch, but Tan Yanqing was standing right under those eaves, being soaked by the rain over and over again.

Jian Hao lay huddled against her lap, the back of her head facing her, her shoulders shaking with every sob.

Tan Yanqing’s habitually straight back softened in an instant, slumping down. Her head slowly moved closer to the person in her arms. As her arched waist bent into a crescent moon—like a great mother or an all-encompassing lover holding Jian Hao—her lips came very close to the back of Jian Hao’s head.

She stopped. The hand on Jian Hao’s shoulder moved upward slowly, smoothing over her hair. At the very last second, she bent her back completely and, through her own hand, kissed Jian Hao’s hair.

After a brief but seemingly eternal ten seconds, Tan Yanqing lifted her head. Behind her lenses, her lashes flickered as if trying to fan cool her reddened, burning eyes. At the same time, she took a deep breath. When she finally exhaled, she straightened her waist, placed her hand under the collar of Jian Hao’s school jacket, and patted her gently.

“She was very happy.”

Tan Yanqing’s voice was hoarse. The graininess in those four short words sounded like an old cassette player.

Remember those cassettes? If the thin black tape inside got pulled out, it was hard to get it back in. But there was a way: use a chopstick or another thin stick, wedge it into the gears of the cassette, and turn it slowly, winding the derailed tape back into its box.

Right now, Jian Hao was like that tangled tape, and Tan Yanqing was the person leading her back onto the right track.

Jian Hao had taken off her padded coat but was still in her school uniform. Unlike the blue-and-white uniform of 2008, the current one was a shade of white with gray. Because she was lying face down, the back collar of the jacket stood up, revealing her nape beneath her fuzzy stray hairs.

Tan Yanqing moved her hand to the back of her neck, gave it a gentle squeeze, and said, “She didn’t have anything to be unhappy about.”

“How is that possible? She…” Jian Hao’s voice came out muffled. “She searched for me for seventeen years.”

“…She didn’t search for that long.”

“But she still searched!” Jian Hao’s crying intensified, becoming louder and more sorrowful. It felt as if the sky were about to collapse and the house were trembling. “Auntie, I want to go back… I want to tell her I didn’t disappear on purpose… I want to tell her not to look for me, not to look for me for so long… she can’t lose herself just to find me…”

Tan Yanqing’s grip on her neck loosened, her fingertips brushing against the edge of her hairline. Finally, she rested her large palm on top of Jian Hao’s head.

“Xiao Hao…”

She wanted to comfort her, but as soon as she spoke, she realized her voice was much like Jian Hao’s—though she hadn’t cried out loud yet, there was a suppressed, trembling vibration in her tone.

Tan Yanqing tilted her neck back. However, because the lights were so piercing, the tears she tried to hold back still spilled over. The tears blurred her cool gaze; her reddened eyes made them look like the toughest, most solitary diamonds in a display case that had suddenly bled and then shattered.

Tan Yanqing closed her eyes.

Jian Hao, nestled against her lap, continued to choke out words: “I only knew her for two months. There was no need for her to be so good to me… Why? Why was she so good to me… She loved me… she loved me… but I… I failed her…”

Jian Hao’s words were like an incantation reaching Tan Yanqing’s ears. The second hand on the wall clock went tick, tick, tick. From 2008 until now, Tan Yanqing had preserved the items in her home exactly as they were as much as possible. If something broke, she fixed it; if it couldn’t be fixed, she piled it in the storage room—she wouldn’t throw it away.

Thus, the house was always filled with images like shadows of butterflies from the past.

Closing her eyes and listening to the clock slowly tick, it felt as if everything were still stayed in the past, as if this life had never known regret. Another second passed, and Tan Yanqing opened her eyes. Her gaze was full of cold sorrow as she said softly:

“You were good to her, so naturally she was good to you. As for failing her… that no longer exists now.”

Jian Hao: “But I was good to her because she was Auntie Tan…”

“She was good to you because you were you.”

Jian Hao shook her head, her sobs caught in her throat. “It’s not the same… it’s not the same.”

The air in the room was thick with the scent of wine, braised fish, and stir-fried potatoes… even the smell of the salt Jian Hao brought back was there—the scent of Jian Hao’s tears. But these scents seemed to be gradually diluted by those very tears.

Jian Hao was crying too hard.

Tan Yanqing placed both hands on Jian Hao’s shoulders and lifted her up from her lap. Jian Hao’s eyes had been pressed against her legs; now that she was pulled up, a large patch of Tan Yanqing’s dark jeans was soaked. Even Jian Hao’s own eyes were red and swollen from being buried, her vision blurred by tears to the point she could barely open them.

“Xiao Hao,” Tan Yanqing called softly. “Stop crying, or your eyes will be swollen again tomorrow.”

By now, the alcohol had completely hit her. Jian Hao’s eyes were uncomfortable, so she kept them closed, but feeling her nose running, she sniffed and muttered, “Tissue.”

Tan Yanqing leaned over and pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table. She didn’t hand it to Jian Hao; instead, showing no hint of disgust, she pressed the tissue against Jian Hao’s nose herself. And Jian Hao, out of habit, didn’t dodge.

She wiped her nose and then her tears.

Jian Hao flickered her lashes a few times and opened her eyes. Her eyes, usually as round and dewy as purple grapes, were now cried into long, thin, “red beauty finger” grapes—they looked quite a mess.

Tan Yanqing’s eyes, which intended to be cold to the end, unconsciously softened, and her tone followed suit. She brushed the bangs from Jian Hao’s forehead and said, “Alright, no more crying.”

As soon as she finished, Tan Yanqing turned to throw the tissue away. When she turned back, she saw Jian Hao picking up the beer again, preparing to drink. She reached to snatch it, but she wasn’t faster than Jian Hao tilting her head back.

A gulp of alcohol went down. If Jian Hao were sober, she would surely call herself a drunkard who couldn’t live without alcohol. But even with her head in a muddle, she would say she was a person who couldn’t live without wine.

—She had to get drunk; she had to go see the young Tan Yanqing.

She held the can high and tilted her head back; the beer flowed quickly, and she couldn’t catch it all—some spilled from the corner of her mouth. By the time Tan Yanqing took the can from her hand, it was empty.

Tan Yanqing frowned and looked at Jian Hao. But Jian Hao had already slumped against the back of the sofa, her body like a leaning tower, tilting bit by bit toward Tan Yanqing. Finally, Jian Hao collapsed behind Tan Yanqing, her head squeezed between Tan Yanqing’s back and the sofa.

“Auntie Tan, I’m sorry… I didn’t want you to spend a wasted life because of me. I want to go find Tan Yanqing… but I can’t find her… I’m sorry…” Her head rested against Tan Yanqing’s waist, her hands tightly clutching the hem of Tan Yanqing’s shirt, sobbing.

Tan Yanqing sat stiffly. She gazed into the distance for a long while before lowering her eyes and saying hoarsely, “You don’t owe anyone an apology. After all, something like time travel isn’t something you can control.”

She believed Jian Hao’s explanation. Was she truly convinced? Or, as Jian Hao said, had she known all along?

When she finished speaking, there was no sound from behind her. Tan Yanqing’s downcast lashes trembled, her gaze falling on the wet patch on her trousers.

“And if it weren’t for you, she would have died back in June of 2009.”

Jian Hao, in a daze and about to fall asleep, heard the word “died.” Although she didn’t quite process the meaning, she was stunned. She struggled to open her eyes against her drowsiness, propped herself up against the sofa, and stared blankly at Tan Yanqing with watery eyes.

Tan Yanqing’s expression was calm as her fingers brushed against Jian Hao’s cheek, smoothing the hair that had been mussed on her forehead. The cool fingertips scraping against her face made Jian Hao feel both an itch and a sense of tenderness. Not only were her actions gentle, but her voice also carried a soft, storytelling quality reserved for a younger generation.

“She was fourteen, looking at a household register that only had her own name left, not knowing what to do next. At that time, she could only live according to the schedule her mother left for her. Waking up on time, eating on time… sometimes she wondered, what next? What should she do after? She thought that once she finished her study schedule and took the entrance exams, she would go see her mother.”

“Going to see her mother was a plan she set for herself. But they say plans can’t keep up with changes…”

Tan Yanqing took her hand away from Jian Hao’s face and let it drop. Her gaze remained fixed on Jian Hao, looking at her like she was looking at her seventeen-year-old self. She said, “You were the rain that fell outside of the plan.”

Soaking my entire autumn.

Caught off guard, Jian Hao shook her head, full of disbelief and resistance. “You’re lying! She said she wanted to study astronomy! She wanted to finish the work her mother didn’t finish! How could she go and die!”

“Because that was her other plan. Back then, those two thoughts were jumping back and forth in her mind. She was just waiting until after the exams to see which one jumped higher, and then she would follow that one.”

Tan Yanqing looked at Jian Hao, her eyes calm as she said, “After meeting you, she had her own schedule. She wrote you into her plan…”

Jian Hao grabbed Tan Yanqing’s arm, gripping hard enough to cause a bit of pain. But Tan Yanqing’s expression didn’t change; her hand rested gently on Jian Hao’s. “Xiao Hao, regardless of whether you disappeared or how long you were gone, you were the ‘unfinished plan’ that made her want to live in this world.”

“She really doesn’t think it was anything. Don’t cry for her anymore.”

Jian Hao bit her lower lip. Tears like pearls burst from her eyes, pitter-patter, falling onto her uniform and staining it with one gray-white plum blossom after another.

“You’re just saying that to coax me! You’re lying to me like I’m a child! I don’t believe you!” Jian Hao threw off Tan Yanqing’s arm and turned away. “You aren’t Tan Yanqing… Tan Yanqing wouldn’t lie to me.”

Then who was she? A liar, Auntie Tan?

Tan Yanqing let out a small laugh. “So I’m capable of lying to you now?”

Jian Hao mumbled something. Tan Yanqing didn’t hear it clearly, but after pondering it, it was likely a reproach for her not admitting she knew she was Jian Lai.

Tan Yanqing’s gaze dimmed slightly. Looking at Jian Hao’s profile, she said, “Then how about I tell you something I’m not lying about?”

Jian Hao’s cheeks were puffed out; she was likely angry with Tan Yanqing in her drunken state. But a drunk person’s thoughts come in fragments; they follow wherever they are led. Even though she was angry, as soon as Tan Yanqing changed the subject, she sat still for less than two seconds before her head whipped back toward her.

Her dark eyes rolled, her teary gaze rippling like a small animal curious about a new world. Tan Yanqing looked into her eyes and said, “Do you know why she wanted to see her mother?”

“…”

“Because she had no family left in this world at that time. She felt bored, felt it was all meaningless. She felt life was like a big math problem—once you write ‘Solution,’ the process… depends on how you want to write it. She felt everyone dies sooner or later, so there was no need to live out the process. She even thought that dying early meant becoming a star in the sky sooner.”

Tan Yanqing said, “But there was a person who got drunk and asked her: ‘Tan Yanqing, do you think two people without a blood relation can be family?’ At that time, she didn’t know why that person suddenly asked that, so she answered ‘I don’t know.’ That person just chuckled foolishly and told her, ‘Of course they can!’ She asked why, but the person didn’t say. They just lowered their head for a bit, and when they looked up again, they looked into her eyes and said: ‘Your grandma passed away, and you aren’t close with that other side. You’ll be alone from now on, right… But don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid, Tan Yanqing. I like you, and you like me. From now on, I’ll be your family, and you’ll be mine. We’ll be closer than family, and we’ll never be apart for a lifetime…'”

At this point, Tan Yanqing’s eyes—usually as stable as the climate of the North and South Poles—suddenly turned into a rainy region, growing damp.

“But the day after saying those words, that person disappeared. She cursed that person for being a liar, yet she also held onto the thought that they were her family. So she had to find her. To find her for an answer, to find her to confirm one thing. But later, an answer didn’t matter anymore; she no longer cared. She just wanted to confirm one thing.”

Tan Yanqing’s gaze fixed on Jian Hao. Looking into her eyes, she said with a smile:

“Xiao Hao, I didn’t mean to keep denying it. It’s just that when you asked me ‘You know, don’t you?’, the thing I wanted to confirm had already been confirmed. I thought there was no longer a need to admit it… because you will definitely continue that night, but I… I am already trying to forget that night.”

That night was too far from her.

Tan Yanqing had said so much; Jian Hao didn’t know if she understood it all. She only saw Tan Yanqing smile as a single tear fell. Jian Hao asked in a low voice: “Confirm… what?”

Tan Yanqing’s tearful eyes curved.

Lailai,

“It’s enough just knowing you are still alive.”