Days of Wind and Whispers

chapter2

In those days spent in Nancheng, Yu was her closest companion. Initially, Yan Yan kept things formal, visiting her home only once or twice a week. But eventually, an inexplicable attachment grew, gluing her to Yu's home around the clock.

On her first dinner invitation, Yan Yan exclaimed to Yu's mother, “These cola-glazed chicken wings are the best I've ever tasted!” Her mother beamed with pleasure, lauding Yan Yan's flattering remarks.

From then on, every feast had a plate of those succulent wings awaiting her. Ultimately, Yan Yan's audacity led her to affectionately dub Yu's mother as her godmother.

Yan Yan had never tasted Jian Ronghua's cooking. Her days were crammed, overflowing, leaving no room for such a luxury. Yet, Jian Ronghua offered an apology, a mumbled regret about his overflowing schedule. She produced a sleek, dark wallet, the clip gleaming like polished obsidian. Two, perhaps three bills were extracted and pressed into Yan Yan's hand.

“Buy something you enjoy.” she offered.

The sting of being overlooked vanished, replaced by the rustle of the unexpected windfall. Yan Yan drifted away, the money a comforting weight in her palm.

It is often said that pursuing the unattainable is a struggle fraught with the necessity to deceive oneself, fluctuating between excessive ambition and reluctant acceptance.

Take, for instance, that first daunting set of monthly exams during first year of junior high school.“Sweetheart, where did you place this time? Oh, one hundred and sixth… not bad, not bad at all. Now, next time you c***k the top hundred, Mommy promises you a new phone.”

Truth be told, Xia Manni was a constant presence in Yan Yan's life. Back in their halcyon days, a shared infatuation with Fahrenheit’s quartet had forged a bond so tight, they practically lived in each other’s pockets. It wasn’t long before this camaraderie escalated, their friendship blossoming into something… more intimate. They shared a bed, their connection, once a fragile vessel, now a mighty ship sailing the turbulent waters of adolescence.

Countless nights, Xia Manni would clamber into Yan Yan’s bed, a playful menace, declaring with mock severity, “You are responsible for this friendship! You’re mine, forever!”

Yan Yan, resigned to her friend’s affectionate tyranny, endured this “exclusive devotion” for years.

Even the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, which eventually separated them, couldn’t diminish the unwavering loyalty they held for one another.

Then came the midterms. “That essay better be worth at least thirty-five points. The fill-in-the-blanks section is practically a gift！”

And the first semester finals? “Play your best this time, avoid sloppiness. If you slip out of the top two hundred, think how embarrassing it would be...”

On and on it went. She couldn't even recall the last time she'd shared a meal with Jian Ronghua.

The school, nestled in Haidian's western embrace, lay a mere stone's throw from the base of Xiangshan Mountain. Perhaps it was the mountain's mystical aura, subtly infused over half a year, that led Yan Yan to a certain epiphany: life, in its fleeting brevity, demanded a fervent pursuit of joy.

And so, in this hazy, yet delightful state, she drifted to the present day.

The Sabbath's tranquility, a rare respite from the tortures of English tutelage, shattered around Yan Yan. A jarring ring, the fifth such importunate summons from Xia Manni, ripped through the quiet.

Her mobile, perched upon the white nightstand, pulsed with a frantic energy, a vibrating seizure against the calm. Deep in the throes of a mahjong battle with the venerable Zhou Gong, a mere two tiles from a triumphant triple victory, Yan Yan recoiled. A tremor of fear seized her lips, stealing her breath. The insistent ringing paused, a deceptive lull before a renewed barrage, culminating in a final, desperate clatter as the phone hurled itself to the floor, a mechanical banshee determined to wrest her from the embrace of sleep.

The room spun. Mahjong tiles, the fragrant aroma of Longjing tea, even the spectral form of Mr. Zhou with his ethereal chain, all vanished in a dizzying rush. Yan Yan’s eyes flew open. With a startled gasp, she tumbled out of bed.

On the other end of the line, Xia Manni, on the verge of a homicidal rampage, finally heard Yan Yan's voice. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she gritted out, “Are you selecting your own burial plot, or shall I arrange the dispatch?”

Yan Yan, freshly roused from sleep and still adrift in a mental fog, nonetheless possessed a robust survival instinct. Xia Manni's characteristic Beijing inflection triggered an immediate, reflexive response.

“Um... still breathing,” she mumbled.

Xia Manni’s heart skipped a beat.

“So, my absence has emboldened your recklessness?”

Yan Yan, phone wedged between ear and shoulder, contorted herself beneath the bed, hunting the errant slipper. Her voice, directed at the imperious presence on the other end, dripped with insincere contrition. “Yes, yes, my fault entirely. You're absolutely right. My dearest, most magnanimous friend, please forgive my utter stupidity.”

The storm clouds of 'Empress Xia's' displeasure parted instantly,“Hmph. Glad you see it that way. Now hurry up, you're dawdling.”

A yawn interrupted Yan Yan's next mumble. “To do what ......? ”

Xia Manni harbored a dark suspicion that Yan Yan's sluggishness was a deliberate act of rebellion.

“Good heavens, Your Highness! Are you still asleep, or is this some elaborate performance?”

Time passed by before Yan Yan's memory was awakened. Her eyes landed on the invitation on the table that shone with an eye-catching light, and it dawned on her: “Damn it, my terrible first boyfriend is getting married today.“

Xia Manni's laughter was sharp and abrupt, cutting through the air. Yan Yan's feigned ignorance clearly amused her. “Yeah, the top floor of the China World Trade Center. Give me a shout when you arrive. ”Threats with black humor soon followed. “If you dare stand me up, I'll burn your ridiculous hair.“

With a click, the phone hung up. Yan Yan stared at the silent phone, and a faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. She turned around and slowly walked into the bathroom.

An invitation, nestled within a shoebox-sized container, arrived at Yan Yan's residence. Had Yi Yang not forewarned her, the imposing package, bearing Zhang Jia's name, might have induced a fatal fright.

Later, Xia Manni known Yi Yang's engagement, the formality of his “request” striking her as a thinly veiled threat, likely extended to her friend as well. Without a word, Xia Manni secured leave, embarking on a red-eye flight back to her homeland.Not at all like the person who once ran off to Anchorage to observe moose and decisively gave up on going home.

The abruptness of it all struck Xia Manni with such force that the very existence of her parents, back in their homeland, vanished from her mind. The two elderly figures, startled by the sudden materialization of their daughter in their very living room, were left gasping for air. Xia's father, a man who had seen his share of the world, fumbled for his spectacles, offering a shaky reassurance to his equally petrified wife.

“Calm yourself, my dear,” he stammered, “It's merely a trick of the light...a phantom born of our longing for our girl.”

Manni ran forward, her voice ringing out, “Daddy! Mommy!” Incredulous joy filled their faces as it dawned on them. Oh my God, was this real? Their daughter, right in front of them?！

“......”

To spare her parents the worry, Xia Manni concocted a story. Yan Yan, she explained, had been rushed to intensive care with a sudden bout of enteritis. Manni had been so worried, so sleepless , that she simply had to see her friend was alright. Her parents, fond of Yan Yan, were instantly sympathetic, their concern for Manni's “unannounced return” forgotten.

The consequence of this fabricated emergency? Manni spent the entire night fielding calls from a certain “someone,” jet lag be damned.

“Someone” seethed：“Since when was I in intensive care?”

“Oh, thanks to you, remember?” Yan retorted. “I’ve been telling everyone my own parents aren’t half as attentive as my best friend. A little gas and she’s calling an ambulance, terrified I’ll expire dramatically at her feet. At this rate, next time I’ll be visiting myself in the morgue.”

“............”

A certain culprit, unjustly accused, remained silent.