Quenching

"Hello, who are you looking for?"

The door opened a crack. An unfamiliar young man stood behind it, giving Lin Chuan a curious look. For some reason, the man outside reminded him of a stone frozen in place.

For an instant, there was dead silence.

Lin Chuan's voice carried a tremor he did not even notice himself:

GOOGLE search

"Excuse me... did a family named Lin used to live here?"

The young man shook his head. "No idea. You've got the wrong place, haven't you? My grandpa built this house ten years ago. A few decades before that, maybe."

Lin Chuan instinctively glanced inside. The furnishings were nothing like what he remembered. Even the floor plan was different.

He suppressed the urge to go inside and look around, politely closing the door for the young man. "Sorry, I must have remembered wrong. Sorry to bother you."

Lin Chuan did not seek out anyone else to ask. That would have been a futile struggle. With perfect clarity, he told himself, "This is the ending. There's nothing after this. No twist."

Because his grandfather had built the house in 2007, and he had been born the following year, while that young man looked to be in his twenties.

Lin Chuan remembered a spring outing with his elementary school class. He had taken a group photo of a few close classmates in the park, but afterward, something had felt wrong-until a friend beside him pointed it out:

"Why didn't you get yourself in the picture?"

The train station, the department store, the square, the little shop... the world was like a master painter who had perfectly copied the entire canvas of human life, only to forget to paint Lin Chuan into it.

Everything he had done before this was merely the stubborn refusal of a wanderer far from home, hoping to find a shred of comfort in a dream.

But dreams always ended.

Like a rainbow-colored bubble that floated in the air for a moment, then burst without a sound.

Lin Chuan staggered out through the gate and leaned against an advertising board. The sky slowly darkened, and he heard a parent in the house behind him calling their child to dinner over and over.

"...Don't stay up late again tonight. You sleep late and get up late, and you never come when it's time to eat."

The voice seemed distant and wavering, as though it had passed through a layer of water. He could not tell where it came from.

I have to eat on time.

Lin Chuan forced himself to stand straight and stepped stiffly onto the alley's concrete pavement. He walked through the alley without looking at the unfamiliar buildings on either side, never once turning back.

I have to eat on time.

He retraced his steps. It felt like ages before the outline of the department store came into view. But when he reached the fifth floor, the buffet restaurant was still brightly lit, so perhaps not much time had passed after all.

Lin Chuan paid for three people, along with the deposit, and calmly explained to the server, "There are two more coming. They'll be here later."

Once inside, he awkwardly searched for the familiar spot: a cushioned booth by the window, somewhere farther into the restaurant.

A happy family of three sat there. A little girl ran about excitedly, fetching plate after plate of mousse cake.

Her father reminded her not to take too much, since they would lose their deposit if they could not finish it. Her mother simply sneaked the extra desserts back.

Lin Chuan watched them quietly from a distance.

His eyes were lifeless, as though he were looking through those parents at another family from years ago. Back then, his father would rap him on the head and complain that he "only picked things that weren't worth the money," only to relent in the end and tell him to "just get something you like."

Lin Chuan looked away, turned, and sat at a nearby table. There were seats for four, but he alone huddled in the corner by the wall. The rest were empty.

He fetched three sets of bowls and chopsticks, put some different foods in each bowl, and placed two sets on his side and one opposite.

Lin Chuan tugged at the corners of his mouth, forcing out a smile. He could not see his own expression, but it probably looked awful. Suddenly, he felt he understood Klein from the original novel. Only Klein had needed one night, while he had taken five years before daring to face it.

He reached out with his chopsticks, poked the marrow out of a small lamb chop, and put it in his mouth. It tasted exactly as it always had.

"Dad, Mom."

Lin Chuan swallowed the food. His voice was very, very soft, like a whisper meant for someone:

"I'm doing pretty well now. You don't have to worry about me anymore. I can support myself. I've made a friend at university, too. He's a really good guy. I'll introduce you when I get back. Oh, and I'm planning to take the postgraduate entrance exam this year. Once this year's over, your son will be a grad student, too..."

At last, he could not go on. His vision grew blurrier and blurrier, like when he used to ride his bike on rainy nights, unable to see or hear anything.

He had known the answer all along. He had simply refused to give up until he confirmed it with his own eyes.

An Earth where China's national football team had made it into the World Cup, and his university roommate was named Zhou Mingrui, had no place for an outsider like Lin Chuan. That made perfect sense.

Lin Chuan closed his eyes and slumped over the table, covering his face with his hands. Only stifled sobs escaped.

I'm back. I'll come back. I'll come back again.

The buffet restaurant's lights went out one by one. Almost everyone had left, and only a few servers remained, tidying the tables and chairs.

Lin Chuan was the last to leave. In the end, he had not finished the food he had taken, nor did he intend to ask for his deposit back. But the restaurant owner stopped him and insisted on pressing the money into his hand.

The middle-aged man, who looked as though he had plenty of stories of his own, patted his shoulder and was about to say something, only to see Lin Chuan stuff the money into his pocket and leave without looking back.

If someone was giving him money, he might as well take it. He was no fool.

The owner froze, standing there at a loss. Then the young man ahead waved without turning around and called back with a smile:

"Boss Gao, you really need to wise up. Being such a pushover-it's no wonder you'll close down after New Year's. Remember to watch out for that friend you do business with. I still want to come back for a meal next year-"

How does this kid know my name? Does he know me? And what's he talking about? Boss Gao was baffled. He wanted to ask, but the young man had sounded so casual, as though they were just making conversation.

Still, he chuckled. "Damn. He looks pretty cool walking away like that."

At least he did not have to worry that this young man, who looked as though his entire family had died, would jump into a river the moment he stepped outside.

The owner turned around. He had things to do himself. But watch out for his business partner? The kid was strange, sure, but perhaps he ought to keep an eye out.

Lin Chuan walked out of the department store and stood at the crossroads. Pedestrians passed back and forth before him, traffic streamed endlessly through the streets. Even in a small county town in 2018, the city had

his own breathing.

He went nowhere else. He sat all night on a stone bench by the road, watching darkness fall and light return. The crowds dispersed, then gathered again. The sun rose in the east, and the smell of steamed soup dumplings drifted through the neighborhood.

Lin Chuan remembered telling Zhou Mingrui before he left that he would "probably be back in about a month."

That month could have been time to reunite with his parents and get them settled. It could also have been time for someone who had lost his way and remained trapped at seventeen to say goodbye to the past.

But now, it seemed he no longer needed it.

Lin Chuan bent down and scooped up a handful of loose earth, then spread his fingers and let it slowly fall.

This was not his hometown. This was not the soil of his homeland.

But that did not matter. He was still alive. He still had a chance. Sooner or later, he would return to his own hometown, no matter how long it took. He would bring his friend along and tell his parents, with a smile, about everything he had experienced since leaving home.

Would that make a good story?

It surely would.