Chapter 28

This month felt interminably long.

Ning Qiuyan didn’t go back to work at N°, nor did he have the energy to look for another job. He spent more than half the month just staying at home.

During the first week, Wutong was hit by a late spring cold snap, the air even chillier than in the depths of winter.

He spent day and night playing a game called “Zombie Land.”

The game was bloody, with a terrifying storyline, rated 18+, and had once topped the horror game charts.

Ning Qiuyan had a high school classmate who bought the game. Out of curiosity, he’d watched them play, but found it so disturbing that he politely declined their recommendation. This time, he locked himself at home, set the game’s difficulty and horror level to the highest, and played it all the way through to the end.

During this period, Su Jianzhou came by once and criticized him for “wasting time on games” and “not eating properly.”

He only muttered, “Just leave me alone for now.”

It was as if he’d entered a rebellious phase.

The second week, the sky remained gray, and it started to rain endlessly.

He lay at home, zoning out.

Just lying there, doing nothing at all.

The third week, the weather was unpredictable. He watched a lot of films and shows about Vampires.

He searched for related information online and bought some fantasy novels.

In the final week, Wutong finally welcomed the brilliant sunshine of spring.

Ning Qiuyan slung his guitar over his shoulder and went to Wutong Forest Park.

The snow had melted, new buds sprouted on the branches, and the misty forest meadows were filled with people out enjoying the spring, laughter and joy everywhere. He found a quiet spot, played some of his own compositions, and took out his notebook to jot down new bursts of inspiration.

The pencil scratched briskly across the paper.

As he strummed the strings, he suddenly remembered something Guan Heng had said to him.

-“An instrument only has value when it’s played.”

The guitar in his hands now wasn’t the one Guan Heng had given him. For one, it was too precious, and he couldn’t bear to use it; for another, there was a vague, indescribable feeling in his heart, so he’d packed it away in its case and put it on a high shelf.

He didn’t know why Guan Heng had given him a guitar.

Was it because he studied music, so it was a fitting gift? Had Guan Heng only given such a gift to him, or to others as well? After all, Guan Heng’s life was much, much longer than his own, and he must have met many different people and had many different experiences.

What does it feel like to become an “eternal” existence?

How did Guan Heng become… what he is?

Lost in thought, the lines his pencil traced began to change shape.

Ning Qiuyan bit the end of his pencil, slightly dazed.

What he’d written was no longer musical notes, but “Guan Heng,” over and over again.

*

On the last Friday of the month, Ning Qiuyan wore a cream-colored hoodie, grabbed his jacket and canvas bag, and went downstairs.

Everything was normal in the old neighborhood; there was no out-of-place luxury car under the plane trees.

But as he walked out the gate and turned the corner, a black sedan was quietly parked there. A driver stood beside it, and when he saw Ning Qiuyan, he nodded to him.

“Mr. Ning, please get in the car.” The driver opened the door respectfully.

There was no one else around.

Yet Ning Qiuyan still felt a bit like he was being “kept,” thinking this kind of treatment was a bit much. Still, not wanting to keep the other waiting, he said “thank you” and got into the car without fuss.

They drove in silence.

The car passed through the streets of Wutong, headed out of town, and followed the coastline to the pier.

As usual, he boarded Uncle Ping’s boat at the dock, and again, they traveled in silence to Du Island.

The four-hour journey across the sea seemed shorter than before, the calm, gray-blue water making the world feel peaceful.

When he got off the boat, the sunlight on Du Island stung Ning Qiuyan’s eyes, and he instinctively raised his arm to shield them.

Seagulls circled overhead, their cries sharp and distant.

Uncle Kang stood by the car, waving cheerfully at him. “Xiao Ning!”

There was still some snow on Du Island; spring here came later than elsewhere. But just as Uncle Kang had said last time, as the weather warmed, the scenery on the island was already very different from winter.
Apart from the dark green fir trees, other vegetation was also sprouting tender green buds. Across the vast expanse of wild grassland, the thin layer of snow was melting, revealing patches of damp hollows.

As they crossed the inevitable hill, Ning Qiuyan was certain he had even seen wild deer.

“The weather’s warmer now, and the island is livelier,” Uncle Kang said. “Mr. Guan has been sleeping a bit less than he did in winter. Just yesterday, he spent the whole day in his studio.”

The sudden mention of Guan Heng caught Ning Qiuyan off guard. Even though he knew he would see Guan Heng soon, his heart still skipped a beat.

What did Guan Heng do all day in the studio?

Did he paint?

Uncle Kang didn’t continue on that topic, but instead told Ning Qiuyan, “Granny Bai has prepared lots of delicious food, and Dr. Ling asked when you’d arrive. Everyone’s looking forward to your visit.”

Ning Qiuyan nodded, unsure what to say, and blurted out, “Will Lu Qianque come this week?”

Uncle Kang smiled, “Probably not. Mr. Lu has other arrangements.”

Ning Qiuyan responded with an “Oh.”

Uncle Kang added, “But next month Mr. Lu will come, and he’ll bring his child. If you count the days, it should be right when you’re on the island.”

In truth, Ning Qiuyan didn’t really care when Lu Qianque would arrive. It was just that with Lu Qianque’s sharp tongue around, he felt he could stay a bit more clear-headed. Not knowing what else to say, he simply replied with another wooden “Oh.”

Uncle Kang, understanding as always, said kindly, “Relax, child. Nothing’s different now from before.”

After arriving at the mansion, Ning Qiuyan first went to the room he always stayed in, and didn’t see Guan Heng right away.

He no longer found this strange.

Thanks to the spring sunlight, the mansion hidden in the Du Island forest seemed even more solemn than before. The curtains and windows were covered more tightly than before.

Just as he got out of the car, Ning Qiuyan had noticed that the third-floor windows had been fitted with extra panels to block out the light. He wasn’t sure if they’d always been there or if they were newly installed.

He hadn’t waited long in his room before Dr. Ling came, as usual, to take a blood sample.

This time, Ning Qiuyan couldn’t help but ask Dr. Ling what exactly they were testing for.

“Humans are different from animals-we have a high degree of autonomy and uncontrollable risks. Your lifestyle habits affect the trace elements in your blood, and certain foods, meats, or stimulants like tobacco and alcohol can influence the taste of your blood. This is related to Mr. Guan’s personal preferences,” Dr. Ling said directly, no longer holding back. “But my main concern is confirming the safety of your blood, including but not limited to prohibited drugs, infectious diseases, and other adverse factors.”

Of course, all of that was just procedure.

Ning Qiuyan was very conscious of his role as a “blood donor,” strictly following the diet Dr. Ling provided. He didn’t smoke, drink, or abuse medication, and his private life was clean-there was no chance of any infectious disease.

But what had to be done, had to be done. No matter who he was, whether he was Ning Qiuyan or not, the rigor of this process couldn’t be changed.

As a qualified “blood donor,” Ning Qiuyan didn’t ask any further questions.

In the afternoon, Granny Bai called Ning Qiuyan to the kitchen to help sort out some unsuitable mountain mushrooms.

Because of the damp climate, not all the mushrooms could be perfectly dried. The moldy or moist ones had to be removed, or they would affect storage. Ning Qiuyan didn’t ask Granny Bai about the photos; he liked spending time with her, as it made him feel at ease.

It was Granny Bai who took the initiative to talk about herself.

“When I was young, I wasn’t as patient as you are.”

Granny Bai smiled, the wrinkles and scars at the corners of her eyes bunching together, making her look kindly.

“Back then, I always felt that life on the island was hard to endure. Day in and day out, it was always the same people, always doing the same repetitive things. With each passing day, I wanted to leave more and more. Mr. Guan told me, I could leave if I wanted, but first I had to answer a question.”

Ning Qiuyan asked, “What question?”

“He asked me what my life goal was,” Granny Bai said, then turned to Ning Qiuyan. “Doesn’t sound like something he’d ask, does it?”

It really didn’t.
Ning Qiuyan nodded.

“At that time, I didn’t have any life goals. I just wanted to leave. It happened that I knew how to bake, so I told Mr. Guan that I wanted to become a world-renowned baking master and win many awards,” Granny Bai said. “After hearing that, Mr. Guan actually hired a teacher for me, let me formally study baking, and even sent me overseas for various trainings. I was exhausted… I regretted giving such a casual answer, but there was no way out-I knew I had no retreat.”

“Later, I really did succeed.”

“I sent all my trophies and prize money back to Du Island, hoping to earn his approval, to let him know I hadn’t lost.”

“Mr. Guan only called me once. He congratulated me, said I did well, and asked if I wanted to come back. I said, absolutely not.”

She sank into memories, her face showing a wistful nostalgia for the past.

“In 1990, I returned to the island. After barely surviving, I didn’t want to leave again. Mr. Guan didn’t say my earlier choice was wrong, nor did he ask if I wanted to leave.”

“He only asked if I had any other goals I wanted to accomplish.”

“It was only then, in a daze, that I remembered-when I was very young, I seemed to have promised Mr. Guan something.”

As Granny Bai spoke, Ning Qiuyan felt as if he too had traveled back to that distant era, before he was even born. He followed the thread and asked, “What was it?”

Granny Bai said, “I haven’t told you this, have I? On this island, everyone except me is from the Guan Family. It’s not that I’m special, but I’m the only one who smuggled myself onto Du Island. My parents died in a famine, and my relatives sold me to traffickers. The day I escaped, I boarded the boat to Du Island, hiding inside a clay jar. When the lid was lifted, I saw Mr. Guan. He took me out of the jar, asked my name and where I came from. He said that once I set foot on Du Island, I couldn’t leave again.”

“I was only five that year. To survive, to get a meal, I told Mr. Guan I would never leave, that I would always stay by his side.”

Ning Qiuyan was stunned.

…Forever?

For anyone, ‘forever’ is a vague and distant word.

For Guan Heng, this uncertainty might be multiplied many times over. He certainly wouldn’t believe a five-year-old girl’s promise of forever.

But he still kept Granny Bai, and she stayed for decades.

Even though they were in the same building, Ning Qiuyan still felt Guan Heng was so unreachable. The air of mystery around Guan Heng hadn’t diminished at all with the revelation of his identity; if anything, it made Ning Qiuyan’s heartbeat grow erratic, for reasons he couldn’t explain.

After nightfall, the mansion gradually came alive.

As all the curtains were drawn open, dazzling lights illuminated the entire building inside and out.

When Ning Qiuyan arrived at the dining room, Guan Heng was already seated across the table.

“Good evening,” Guan Heng said.

He was still wearing a long robe, his smooth hair draped over his back. There was still that captivating laziness in his bones, but compared to before, he looked much more spirited, as if the arrival of spring had awakened him too.

After a month apart, Ning Qiuyan’s face grew warm. “Good evening, Mr. Guan.”

“Sit.” Guan Heng’s pale, slender fingers tapped the tabletop. “Are you hungry?”

Separated by the table, Ning Qiuyan still felt he could smell Guan Heng’s scent.

It was faint, like a woody incense.

Probably picked up from his room.

Dazed and distracted, he replied, “I’m alright, not very hungry…”

Guan Heng seemed to laugh softly; Ning Qiuyan wasn’t sure, but he heard Guan Heng say, “I’m hungry.”

Then he ordered the food to be served.

Ning Qiuyan received the same sumptuous dinner as always, but the set of gleaming, spotless plates in front of Guan Heng remained empty.

As if on purpose, when the Servant pushed the food cart over, they served Guan Heng a glass of blood-red liquid.

Ning Qiuyan looked up, his gaze meeting Guan Heng’s deep, dark eyes.

Those slightly upturned, profound eyes held a trace of coldness, but were calm and at ease.

“Let’s eat,” Guan Heng said blandly.