Twenty-two

While Zhang Nianqing busied herself with the procedures for going abroad, Momo’s leg injury gradually improved; yet her demeanor grew increasingly withdrawn. The part-time caregiver, Dong Fei, had long been replaced by Aunt Bao, a woman in her forties whom Nianqing had arranged. Aunt Bao’s primary duty was to notify Zhang Nianqing immediately by phone whenever someone came to visit Momo.

Whenever such a report arrived, Nianqing would usually rush over at once. Momo couldn’t help but smile wryly; after all, who would be interested in visiting a patient like her—crippled, amnesiac, deaf and mute—again and again, unless they had a penchant for suffering?

The one with a penchant for suffering was a man. Tall and cold, he always watched her from afar; perhaps he appeared only when she grimaced in pain while practicing walking, or maybe when she sat foolishly under the lingering heat of late autumn in the garden until dizziness overcame her, he would hold an umbrella over her head. But Momo, lost in amnesia and deafness, couldn’t recall his identity or any words he’d spoken to her.

As the row of robust plane trees by the west wall of the hospital began to shed their leaves, Momo’s leg finally healed. Today she would be discharged, and Nianqing, unable to wait another day, had already booked tickets for Canada for the following morning. To facilitate this investment immigration, Nianqing had transferred most of her shares in Chenglian that she’d acquired from Dongyin. Now, as the sisters’ ties to Dongyin dwindled, Momo found herself lacking even the feeling of regret. It was like something you once cared deeply about, believed to be your lifeblood; but after it was chipped, then split in half, your pain dulled to numbness. When it finally vanished altogether, you found you no longer felt any sorrow.

Nianqing went to handle the discharge paperwork. Aunt Bao, being her last day at work, left early. Alone in the ward, Momo was fully dressed, leaning quietly against the window, lost in thought. Having lived here for so long, she realized only now that she’d never truly taken in her surroundings. The most renowned military hospital, a private suite for special care—she had stayed here for months, just for a fracture. Whose connections had secured this for her? How much had it cost? Momo dared not dwell on these questions. Yet, as her final day here slipped by, an inexplicable sense of reluctance crept into her heart.

Through the bright window, she saw clusters of once-vibrant roses in the hospital garden drooping, fading away. It seemed as if one could feel the chill of the approaching winter. When spring returned and the flowers bloomed again, who would be there to admire their graceful silhouettes?

The ward door opened silently. Standing by the window, Momo didn’t turn around, thinking Nianqing had finished the discharge procedures, but the footsteps lingered at the threshold. Suddenly, her nerves tightened—now, she found herself without the courage to look back.

After a long pause, that familiar, steady footfall sounded again, each step striking her heart, drawing closer; a long, helpless sigh.

“The wind is strong. Why haven’t you learned to dress warmly for yourself? Momo, even if you ignore and shut me out, that’s enough. Why must you also forget how to care for yourself?” His voice was low and hoarse, yet the deep, magnetic timbre could not be concealed. In that instant, all the sweetness and bitterness surged to her eyes; Momo forced herself to hold it in, to suppress it, and finally she pressed it down, slowly closing her eyes. When her eyes were shut, she heard nothing. With her eyes closed, Nianqing’s image rose in her mind again; her gentle, serene sister, who had learned to smoke. On her once-fair, delicate arm were scars burned by cigarettes...

“Nianqing and I are leaving tomorrow. Is there any point in you acting like this?” Momo dared not look at him; her fingers trembled with pain, so she clutched the hem of her clothes tightly.

“Do you think you can really leave?”

The casual, almost idle remark was like a piercing alarm shattering Momo’s calm. What did he mean? Given Nianqing’s current state, if they didn’t leave soon, she would surely go mad! Momo looked back in panic, her eyes full of pleading and apology, but in the next second, the pain in her fingers rushed back into her heart.

Xiang Zuo was still tall and cold as ever, but his eyes were weary; faintly, they were tinged red. Whether from exhaustion or tenacity, even his habitual frown seemed powerless. Strangely, he smiled—a weightless, bitter smile that cut to the bone. “Rest assured; if I really wanted to make trouble for Zhang Nianqing, would I have waited until today?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but that he couldn’t! Even the divorce agreement Nianqing had signed, he hadn’t yet given to the lawyers, not daring to proceed. If he forced her to divorce, prevented her from leaving the country, or even made her disappear entirely—if he caused Nianqing any distress, it would inevitably be transferred onto Momo! She would still be consumed by Nianqing’s obsession, living each day in torment. What would be the point?

Xiang Zuo gazed at her, a silent, thoughtful look, for a long, long time—so long that Momo felt her blood stop flowing. At last, he conceded, slowly shaking his head. “Momo, tell me: what should I do? What would it take for you to be happy, for you to find joy?”

The ward door was opened again, suddenly and without warning; this time, Momo faced it directly. She saw Nianqing staring at Xiang Zuo’