The Person I'm Waiting For

Volume 1.

Chapter 1: Sonata.

Autumn, 2022.

A pattering rain fell from the gray sky, lightly landing on the city streets.

It was autumn, and pedestrians could still be seen occasionally, using their hands to shield their heads as they hurried past without umbrellas.

In a narrow alleyway for both military and civilians, a seventeen or eighteen-year-old boy sat opposite an old man under the rain shelter next to a small convenience store.

Beyond the shelter, the world was dim, the ground soaked to a light black by the rain. Only the ground beneath the shelter remained dry, as if it were the last patch of pure land left in the entire world.

In front of them sat a worn wooden chessboard. Above them was the red "Fulai Supermarket" sign.

"Checkmate," said the young Qing Chen, standing up and leaving the sparse-haired old man staring blankly.

Young Qing Chen glanced at the old man and calmly said, "No need to struggle anymore."

"I can still..." the old man said unwillingly, "We're only thirteen moves in..."

The old man felt a bit embarrassed about being defeated after only thirteen moves.

Qing Chen didn't explain. The board was already filled with killing intent, the final moment when the truth is revealed.

The young man's face was clean, his eyes clear. He sat there in a simple school uniform, as if purifying the world around him, making it a little more transparent.

The old man threw the chess piece he was holding onto the board, conceding defeat.

Qing Chen walked to the counter of the adjacent supermarket as if no one else was there, took 20 yuan from the change basket underneath the counter, and put it in his pocket.

The old man grumbled at Qing Chen, "I lose 20 yuan to you every day! I just won 20 yuan from Old Li and Old Zhang this morning, and now I've lost it all to you!"

Qing Chen pocketed the money, then sat back down beside the chessboard to review the game. "If they were still willing to play chess with me, I wouldn't have to rely on you to win money. You need face, I need money. It's fair and reasonable."

"You're just taking advantage of me, aren't you?" the old man muttered. "The fortune teller said I'd live to seventy-eight. I'm only fifty now. If I lose 20 yuan to you every day, how much money will I lose?"

"But I'm also teaching you chess to win back your face," Qing Chen replied calmly. "When you factor that in, you're not losing anything."

The old man grumbled, "But what you've been teaching me these past two days is useless stuff."

Qing Chen glanced at him. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

The old man: "???"

The old man impatiently reset the chessboard and said eagerly, "Alright, alright, let's review the game."

At this moment, Qing Chen suddenly lowered his head.

The time that had just passed seemed to replay in his mind.

The charging cannon, the fierce pawns on the Chu River and Han boundary, echoed in his mind one by one.

Not just that.

There were also the uncles who passed by them while they were playing chess, carrying four freshly baked sesame cakes in their hands. The steam from the hot cakes fogged up the transparent plastic bags.

A little girl in a white dress walked by holding an umbrella, with two beautiful butterflies on the tops of her patent leather shoes.

In the sky above, the drifting rain fell into the alley, crystal clear.

At the end of the alley, the No. 103 bus flashed past the narrow entrance. A woman in a beige trench coat ran towards the bus stop, holding an umbrella.

The sound of footsteps, the gurgling of water flowing into the manhole covers by the roadside, these noisy sounds made the world seem exceptionally quiet.

Qing Chen hadn't forgotten any of this, although recalling it was somewhat difficult.

But difficulty didn't mean impossibility.

This peculiar memory was an innate talent of Qing Chen's, as if he could effortlessly extract a save file from the river of time and read the images stored on the magnetic strip.

Qing Chen suppressed the dizziness in his head and picked up a chess piece from the board.

The old man immediately fell silent, his eyes fixed intently on the chessboard. The review of each game was also part of their gambling agreement.

Qing Chen was responsible for teaching, and the old man would learn after losing money.

This scene was somewhat peculiar. Qing Chen lacked the humility and shyness a young person would normally show towards an elder; instead, he acted like a teacher.

The old man didn't find anything strange about it.

"Red's Cannon 2 to 5, Black's Cannon 8 to 5, Red's Horse 2 to 3, Black's Horse 8 to 7, Red's Chariot 1 to 1, Black's Chariot 9 to 8..." Qing Chen moved the pieces step by step.

The old man didn't blink. The opening moves were normal, but he couldn't understand how, by the sixth move, he had captured the opponent's horse and suddenly fallen into a disadvantageous position.

"The essence of the 'Thirteen Moves of Sacrificing a Horse' lies in the sixth move's Chariot advancing to sacrifice the horse. It's the killer move that tears open the defense," Qing Chen said calmly. "I saw the game you played with that old man at Wangcheng Park the day before yesterday. He likes to play the 'Running Horse' opening. This 'Thirteen Moves of Sacrificing a Horse' is perfect for him."

The old man opposite him fell into deep thought, then quietly asked, "Can I really beat him?"

"If you learn the 'Thirteen Moves of Sacrificing a Horse' I teach you within a week, you can regain your face," Qing Chen said. "After all... his play isn't that great."

A hint of joy appeared on the old man's face.

But then he suddenly asked, "If I can beat him in a week, how long will it take me to beat you?"

Under the rain shelter, Qing Chen pondered seriously, "Did the fortune teller say you'd live to seventy-eight?... Then there's not enough time."

The old man's expression froze. "If you'd said a little less, I might have lived to seventy-nine... Huh, you should be in evening study hall right now. Why are you getting out of school so early today?"

He knew Qing Chen was a sophomore, and it was Tuesday. The No. 13 Middle School, two streets away, should have been having evening study hall at this time.

Qing Chen thought for a moment before replying, "I'm waiting for someone."

"Waiting for someone?" The old man was taken aback.

Qing Chen stood up and looked out at the drizzle beyond the awning, his gaze drifting through the rain.

The old man said, "Qing Chen, you're so good at chess, why don't you enter a competition? Didn't you say you were short on money? You can win prize money if you become champion."

Young Qing Chen shook his head. "I've just memorized a lot of chess books. It doesn't mean I'm that good. Memory doesn't equal analytical ability. I can play with you guys, but I'll falter against real masters. My path isn't here; chess is just temporary."

"Memorized everything..." the old man sighed. "I used to think things like photographic memory were just made up by others."

The rain slowly stopped.

Just then, the old man suddenly noticed Qing Chen freeze. He followed the young man's gaze towards the end of the military-civilian alleyway and saw a couple walking with a little boy.

The middle-aged woman wore an exquisite trench coat and carried a cake box tied with a pretty purple ribbon.

The gloomy world couldn't hide the joy radiating from the trio. Qing Chen turned and left, leaving the old man sitting under the awning outside Fulai Supermarket, sighing softly.

The middle-aged woman saw Qing Chen's retreating back and called his name, but Qing Chen disappeared at the other end of the alley without looking back.

The walls on both sides of the alley were old. After the white plaster peeled off, patches of mottled red brick were exposed.

The person Qing Chen was waiting for had arrived, but he no longer wanted to wait.