Gu Yebai felt the phone was heavy, and it was still a bit hot in his palm.
It felt like something that shouldn’t belong to him.
Once upon a time, he had thought that someone like him and a girl like Yi—with her almost dazzling appearance and top-tier family background—were destined to be two parallel lines that would never intersect.
They would each move along their own completely different life paths until the very end, never having any intersection at all.
At most, they might meet briefly online during certain moments of being hurt.
Giving each other warmth, finding resonance with each other.
Like animals hiding in the shadows and fearing bright light, they would lick their wounds and then retreat back into their respective dark nests.
That would have been enough.
But just now, the video call Yi had initiated on her own had abruptly shattered the peace he had worked so hard to maintain.
When the ringtone first sounded, Gu Yebai did not tap to answer.
He only felt his heart being submerged, bit by bit, by some kind of warm liquid.
It wasn’t pain; it was swelling.
It swelled until he couldn’t breathe, swelled until there was nowhere to run.
Then, it rang a second time.
Gu Yebai knew that he could no longer hide.
The moment the screen lit up, he saw Yi’s features clearly.
That kind of beauty was even more impactful than her photos.
It was almost perfect.
So perfect that one couldn’t help but wonder if a human could really be beautiful to such an extent.
Following closely behind that thought was a sense of inferiority.
She was a privileged girl from Shanghai who had lived a life as sweet as honey since childhood.
Light would naturally fall upon her.
It was as if the world instinctively knew how to make way for a girl like her.
And what about himself?
He was nothing more than the background.
A shadow cast under the white night.
Quiet and silent.
He wasn’t even worth being called a green leaf.
‘What should I do?’
‘Now, my true self has been exposed.’
Gu Yebai hadn’t told Yi at the time that he was in Linchuan County.
If he went out now, he might actually run into her on the street.
For some reason, a very slight trace of anticipation actually grew in his heart.
It was like knowing something was dangerous yet still being unable to resist approaching the flame.
But beyond the anticipation, there was mostly fear.
He stood in front of the mirror and struggled to force a smile.
It was as if he were repeatedly hinting to himself that everything was not out of control.
But no matter how he looked at it, that smile wasn’t right.
Stiff.
Fake.
Like a mask that had been pasted on crookedly.
Her tears.
Her perfection.
Her story.
“I should just stay home and write my novel.”
Home was good.
Even if it was a dilapidated home.
The ceiling was peeling from moisture.
The window frames leaked drafts.
The wooden floorboards creaked as soon as they were stepped on.
But even so, it was still home.
It could give Gu Yebai an almost obsessive sense of security.
Shelter from the wind.
Protection from the rain.
What was life, anyway?
Eating discounted group-buy meals.
Drinking cheap bottled tea.
Writing novels on a Redmi with a cracked screen.
This was Gu Yebai’s real life.
He had long ago learned to lower the threshold of his expectations.
The smaller the desire, the smaller the disappointment.
He suddenly thought of The Little Match Girl.
If she hadn’t lit the matches, maybe she wouldn’t have seen the warm fireplace, the delicious roasted goose, and the brilliant Christmas tree.
She wouldn’t have seen her grandmother, who had already passed away.
If she hadn’t been deceived by those illusions, perhaps her life wouldn’t have been taken by the freezing winter.
So, when he was very, very young, Gu Yebai had carved a cold maxim into his mind like a psychological seal.
‘Don’t expect.’
‘Recognize your place.’
‘Recognize reality.’
“Yeah… I need to write my novel.”
She and her family would soon leave this boring little county after meeting some boy who also happened to be in Linchuan County.
‘Just write the novel.’
At least in that world, there was still a place for Gu Yebai.
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to push himself into a state of flow.
To make time slow down.
To make the words become clear and controllable.
But as soon as he closed his eyes, what appeared in his mind was the sight of Yi weeping with joy.
At that moment, she looked as if she had finally caught hold of something.
She had cried without any regard for anything else.
And then—
The phone rang.
An unknown number.
The caller ID showed it was from Donghai.
For some reason, a premonition suddenly rose in Gu Yebai’s heart.
As long as he answered this call, his life would be completely rewritten.
It was as if someone had pressed the start button for another life path.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
His finger, however, still slowly reached out.
He pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello.”
“Is this Gu Yebai?”
On the other end of the line was a middle-aged man’s voice.
Steady.
Gentle.
It was as if he had deliberately lowered his voice, for fear of disturbing something.
“Yes, I am Gu Yebai. May I ask who you are?”
The other party paused for a moment before slowly speaking.
“I am Yi’s father. You can call me Uncle Gao.”
“Just now, you made my baby daughter cry.”
“I was sitting in the car, and I saw everything clearly.”
Gu Yebai’s heart sank violently.
He spoke almost as a reflex.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I— “
“There’s no need to apologize, child.”
The man immediately interrupted him.
There was no blame in his tone.
Instead, it sounded like he was offering comfort.
“She wasn’t sad.”
“She cried because she was happy.”
“Emotions are strange things. When people are happy, they laugh first, but laughter isn’t the peak of happiness. When happiness becomes so great that it’s overwhelming, people actually cry.”
He spoke very quickly, as if he were afraid Gu Yebai would pin himself down in the position of having ‘done something wrong.’
“You are truly remarkable, child.”
Gu Yebai’s knuckles tightened slightly as he held the phone.
He managed to squeeze out a self-deprecating remark.
“This sounds like a father seeking justice for his daughter.”
“No.”
The man’s voice was clear and certain.
“I mean that for you to have walked this far and grown to this point is truly remarkable.”
“You are your parents’ pride.”
“When they left this world, I think they must have been incredibly reluctant to leave you.”
“But in their final moments, they must have also thanked fate.”
“Because fate placed you in their hands.”
“You gave them hope, like a beam of light that once illuminated their path.”
It was quiet on the other end of the phone.
There was only the man’s steady and restrained breathing.
‘I am… my parents’ pride?’
“Yes.”
“Because I am also a parent, I understand them.”
“I was also once a child, so I understand you as well.”
“Little Gu, these past years, you’ve worked hard.”
This was a strange man, yet every word he said hit Gu Yebai’s heart with precision.
Gu Yebai looked up and stared at the wedding photo on the wall of the master bedroom.
A snow-white wedding dress.
Happy smiles.
Then, he looked at the funeral portraits placed side by side.
They loved him so much.
But the people who loved him were all gone.
His vision gradually blurred.
“I didn’t save them…”
“If I could have earned more money, I would have wanted them to live…”
“But in the end, I couldn’t do anything.”
“Life is really powerless, Uncle Gao.”
“But I’m still trying my best to live.”
“I feel that living with effort is the greatest defiance toward death.”
His voice trembled slightly.
“Yes,” the man responded softly.
“Life is indeed powerless.”
“Especially when it comes to things like birth, aging, illness, and death.”
“Little Gu, don’t blame yourself.”
“You’ve already tried very hard.”
“Your parents’ illnesses were not your fault.”
“You were just a child.”
“My father said…” Gu Yebai took a deep breath.
“I’m not a child anymore, Uncle Gao.”
“The difference between a child and an adult doesn’t lie in age.”
“It lies in whether one has the confidence to take on responsibility.”
The other end of the line was silent for a moment.
It wasn’t a cold silence, but a kind of earnest listening.
“Little Gu, can Uncle Gao ask a favor of you?”
“What is it?”
“Could I… watch over your life in place of your father?”