The fragments of the montage scattered, leaving only dim yellow lights and two unfinished drinks in the dining car.
Takaba stood where he was, still bowing, then slowly straightened.
He looked at the gray Desolate Street outside the window, then at Qingxiao sitting opposite him. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Qingxiao pushed the "Grandfather" aside. The drink tasted far too strong, and he did not want another sip.
He stood and brushed the dust off his pants.
"I'm off."
Takaba jerked his head up. "You're leaving already?"
"Yeah."
"You... where are you going?"
Qingxiao did not answer. He pushed open the dining car's door, and the wind rushed in, carrying the smell of rust and dust and making the ceiling light sway.
Takaba hurried after him for two steps, then stopped.
He knew he might not get an answer even if he asked, but he could not help himself. His voice sounded a little muffled.
"Then... will I see you again?"
"You really are incredibly funny," Qingxiao said, his quiet voice scattering a little in the wind. "I'm looking forward to our next meeting."
Takaba froze.
He had thought Qingxiao would say, "We'll see," or "If fate allows." He had not expected that.
"You... do you mean it?"
"Obviously." Qingxiao turned his head and glanced at him. "What would I gain by lying to you?"
Takaba's eyes instantly reddened.
He had performed for twenty years and had been told countless times, "You're not funny," "Quit, you dumbass," and "Go home and raise pigs."
This was the first time someone had affirmed him so directly.
And the person saying it had beaten him in both rounds just now.
Someone he acknowledged as being funnier than he was.
"Then... then give me your contact details." Takaba fumbled for his