Chapter 27 - Echoes of the Past
The final banquet before graduation was a cacophony of clinking beer bottles and boisterous, drunken vows of eternal friendship. Inside the cramped, grease-stained restaurant, the air was thick with the smell of spicy stir-fry and the bittersweet heat of cheap alcohol. Jiang Weifeng sat amidst the chaos, a silent island in a sea of rowdy young men. His roommates, flushed with drink and the impending freedom of the adult world, didn't miss the chance to needle him one last time.
"Look at him," one of them laughed, gesturing toward Weifeng’s stoic face. "Four years, and he still looks like he’s presiding over a funeral instead of a celebration. How many girls’ hearts have you stepped on to maintain that icy exterior, Feng-ge?"
As was his custom, Jiang Weifeng remained unmoved. He didn't offer a witty retort or a self-deprecating smile; he simply stared at the amber liquid in his glass, his thoughts drifting far beyond the confines of the university gates. To his friends, he was an enigma—the handsome, talented photographer who seemed to possess everything yet wanted for nothing. They didn't see the ghost that followed him through the corridors of the library or the way his eyes lingered on the horizon whenever the wind picked up.
When the dinner finally wound down and the group began the slow, stumbling trek back to the dormitory, the city lights seemed to blur into long streaks of neon. Jiang Weifeng lagged behind, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. The small flame flickered against the darkness, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw for a fleeting second.
Tong Hui, the most observant of the roommates, slowed his pace until he was walking side-by-side with Weifeng. He glanced sideways, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Feng-ge," he started, his voice hushed as if afraid to break the fragile stillness of the night. "Are you... is there someone you’re actually waiting for?"
Jiang Weifeng didn't look at him. He took a long drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing a fierce, angry red. He had no intention of answering. Some secrets were meant to be buried under the weight of years, protected from the casual curiosity of others.
"I think I know the truth," Tong Hui continued, undeterred by the silence. "Do you remember last year, during the May Day holiday? Your friend came to visit."
Jiang Weifeng’s hand paused mid-air. He remembered. Cheng Minghao—Hao-zi—had taken the train down to see him, bringing with him the familiar, boisterous energy of their hometown and the lingering scent of Qingcheng. They had spent the night shooting photos and reminiscing about the old days at No. 3 High School.
"You two were out on the balcony smoking late that night," Tong Hui said, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I went out to hang some laundry, and I overheard you talking. You mentioned a girl... I didn't catch the name, but I heard the way you spoke about her."
Tong Hui paused, letting the memory hang in the air. "It was only a few minutes, but in that short time, you said more than I’ve heard you say in all four years of college combined. You sounded... different. Like you were finally human."
The silence that followed was heavy. Jiang Weifeng felt a sharp sting against his fingers; the cigarette had burned down to the filter, the dying embers biting into his skin. He didn't flinch. He simply dropped the butt and crushed it under the sole of his shoe.
"Yeah," he finally whispered. The word was soft, barely more than a breath, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. It sounded as if it had traveled from a vast, unreachable distance—from a past he had tried to outrun but could never truly leave behind.
Tong Hui chuckled, a sound of quiet triumph. "I knew it. I just knew it." He didn't push further. He was a man who understood that some depths were not meant to be plumbed, especially not on a night like this. He patted Weifeng on the shoulder and hurried ahead to catch up with the others, leaving his friend alone with the shadows.
Jiang Weifeng stood still for a long moment, the cool night breeze ruffling his hair. He reached for another cigarette, the click of his lighter echoing in the empty street. The wind caught the smoke, swirling it into the air before whisking it away.
In life, the greatest fear was the realization that it was "too late." Conversely, the greatest stroke of luck was finding that everything was "just right." In this surging tide of humanity, where people were swept apart as easily as grains of sand, who could predict who would be lost to the crowd and who would find their way back to a long-awaited reunion?
He had spent four years in this city, building a life, a career, and a reputation. Yet, deep within the vault of his heart, there were questions that had remained frozen in time. Questions he had never had the chance to ask her. Questions about why she left, what she was thinking that final day, and if she ever looked at the wind and thought of him.
As he looked up at the vast, indifferent sky, Jiang Weifeng knew one thing for certain: he wasn't ready to let those questions go unanswered. The four years of silence hadn't extinguished the flame; they had only tempered it.
