Chapter 50: Old Letters

Drinking carrot juice every day, Wang Jiexiang had somehow developed the ability to distinguish between the different tastes of each cup.

Some were sweeter, some more diluted, and some even had a bitter edge. She preferred the sweeter ones, so she bought a pack of white sugar to bring home.

The sugar came in a paper package, which wasn’t convenient to store on the stove. Wang Jiexiang rummaged through every corner of the house, looking for a container to hold it.

She ended up pulling out a tin can from the top shelf of a large cabinet, stuffed in a far corner.

The label on the tin read “Milk Spread.” The bottom half of the character for “spread” was worn off and barely legible. Wang Jiexiang gave the can a shake—surprisingly, it was quite heavy.

She opened it. The entire tin was filled with dozens of folded sheets of paper.

Wang Jiexiang casually unfolded one. It was a letter.

The handwriting was unfamiliar—not Yin Xian’s.

[Island, wishing you well upon reading this:

Summer is such a drag. The sun is blazing, and my window’s broken and won’t open. I’ve been pacing around the house all morning, bored out of my mind, so here I am writing to you again.

How’s life at boarding school? Do you have a fan there?

You mentioned your childhood in your last couple of letters, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

My childhood wasn’t happy either.

I remember summers just as hot as this one. Among the kids, there was a trend of eating “booger candy”—basically, it was a kind of black, round sour plum candy. I used to watch them munching away, looking so satisfied, and I’d drool with envy. But no matter how I begged my mom, she wouldn’t buy it for me. One time, a friend generously gave me a few pieces. I clenched them tightly in my palm, not willing to eat them. By the time I got home, the candy had melted from the heat. I flattened out my palm and licked it clean. My mom happened to see me and called me disgraceful. She yanked off my pants and gave me a vicious beating.

After that, I became even more obsessed with booger candy. Whenever I went into the convenience store, I’d pretend to browse stationery while sneaking glances at the candy shelf. One day, when the shopkeeper wasn’t looking, I stole a box of booger candy and stuffed it into my pocket. I managed to walk out without being caught, but the hot guilt was unbearable. I didn’t dare go to school or go home. I ran to a small alley behind the school shaded by trees. With trembling hands, I tore open the package. Making sure no one was around, I tilted my head back and dumped the entire box down my throat.

You’d never guess what it tasted like—I swear it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.

A single piece was tangy and sweet, but a whole box was like chewing actual boogers—dry, stinky, with a sourness that hit you in the face. Thinking back on my childhood, it kind of tasted the same. I rushed through it, hoping to break free as soon as possible. But it took root in my gut, festering, leaving me with indigestion and a lingering, foul, nauseating stink in my body.

Island, I think the reason we can be friends is because there are parts of us that are alike.

P.S. I hope you’ll like the book I sent you.

Wishing you a happy life,

Your Pen Pal: A Ru]

After reading the first letter, Wang Jiexiang couldn’t stop.

She opened the second, then the third, then the fourth… In the end, she read every single one of them.

The letters were all addressed to the person with the pen name “Island,” sent from his pen pals.

In these letters, they talked about their feelings, their lives, their childhoods; they shared their views on things, their definitions of love, family, and friendship; they talked about their dreams, books they’d read, their favorite movies, and a regret from the past month…

How “Island” replied, Wang Jiexiang had no way of knowing.

But from the abundant emotional expression in the letters, they must have been honest with each other, communicating sincerely through their correspondence.

From the scattered bits of information in the letters, she pieced together the image of a high school boy in her mind. He was a top student, led a monotonous life, moving only between school and his boarding school, and he had an unhappy childhood.

That was a part of Yin Xian’s past he had never shared with her.

Wang Jiexiang refolded the letters along their original creases and returned them to their original state. She placed the tin can somewhere visible and went to prepare tonight’s dinner.

Beating eggs.

Washing and chopping cabbage.

Peeling and mincing garlic.

She did all this so skillfully. They had been together for almost a year now, and she knew exactly how Yin Xian liked each dish—how spicy, how salty.

Returning to her usual routine brought a small measure of calm back to Wang Jiexiang.

Yin Xian came home from work.

The moment he stepped through the door, Wang Jiexiang rushed up to give him a big hug.

“Was work smooth today?”

Yin Xian smiled at her, and the fatigue on his face was cleverly masked by the smile.

“Smooth.”

He washed his hands, got ready for dinner, and sat at the table.

It was one of those rare days when they could have dinner together.

Seeing that Yin Xian hadn’t noticed anything, Wang Jiexiang brought up the tin can on her own.

“By the way, I bought some white sugar today and wanted to put it in a tin. The only one I could find at home was that milk spread tin you left on the top shelf of the cabinet.”

Yin Xian followed her gaze and glanced at the tin.

“Mm,” he nodded, expression unchanged. “Can it be used? That tin’s pretty old. Make sure you wash it thoroughly. If it doesn’t work, I’ll find you another one after dinner.”

Wang Jiexiang didn’t beat around the bush—she said what she wanted to say directly.

“There are letters inside the tin.”

“Letters?”

Yin Xian thought for a moment before recalling.

“Oh, those are pen pal letters from high school. It was a trend back then. Don’t worry about them—just throw them in a file folder or something.”

She served two bowls of rice, and they started eating.

Wang Jiexiang said, “Actually, I read the letters…”

“Oh.”

He scooped a spoonful of cabbage into her bowl.

“What’d you look at those for?”

Wang Jiexiang pressed her lips together, then asked another question.

“Xian-ge, your pen name was Island?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him. “Why did you choose that name?”

Yin Xian’s chopsticks didn’t pause. His tone was casual, and the answer he gave was a bit cryptic.

“Because I’ve always been alone.”

After dinner.

Yin Xian went to wash the dishes.

Wang Jiexiang put the tin can back where it belonged.

She couldn’t help opening the nightstand to check if his cigarettes and lighter were still there.

Yin Xian had wedged them between a few sheets of newspaper—probably thinking she wouldn’t find them. But ever since the first time she caught him smoking, Wang Jiexiang had already discovered their hiding place.

Half a pack was gone.

Was it yesterday, or the night before? One of those nights when she had already fallen asleep, he had gotten up again to sit by the door and smoke alone.

Wang Jiexiang felt a definite sense of something missing between her and Yin Xian.

They ate together, lived together, slept together—it wouldn’t be wrong to say they were the closest people in the world.

Their relationship was truly good. Even though they bickered and got annoyed with each other sometimes, Wang Jiexiang always let it go by the next day. Since getting together with Yin Xian, the city had gained meaning for her, the future became something to look forward to—she was incomparably happy.

But sometimes, there would be moments when she suddenly felt the distance between them stretch, and when she chased after him, she would see a wall he had put up to block her out.

It had to be an illusion, right? That sense of distance, that invisible wall. As long as she treated it like an illusion, they would still be as close as ever… Up until today, Wang Jiexiang had always done just that…

That night, before bed.

Yin Xian lay with his back to Wang Jiexiang. She scooted over and wrapped her arms around him.

“Xian-ge.”

In a sweet, spoiled tone, she spoke to him.

“Tell me about your past, will you? I want to know what your life was like before I met you.”

Yin Xian gave her a flat refusal.

“Nothing worth telling.”

Wang Jiexiang wouldn’t give up, as enthusiastic and talkative as ever.

“Just pick whatever you feel like sharing. Anything you say, I’ll be happy to listen.”

“I met you too late. Your childhood, adolescence, teenage years, early adulthood—I wasn’t part of any of that. What were you like back then? Was your personality the same as it is now? Did anything special happen? Tell me about it.”

She tossed out all these questions, but he didn’t catch a single one.

“The past is the past.”

Wang Jiexiang swallowed and mumbled softly.

“Even if it’s past, you can still talk about it. Just because I met you later, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me.”

Even after being shut down repeatedly, her enthusiasm didn’t wane. She quickly came up with a new idea.

“Then tell me something recent! What kind of clients did you meet today? How many deals did you talk about…”

Yin Xian cut her off, patting the hand she had draped over him.

“It’s late. Let’s sleep.”

The dark room fell into silence.

Even Wang Jiexiang, usually slow to pick up on things, could now see clearly—he didn’t want to talk.

She withdrew the hand that had been insistently holding him and lay back on her side.

Eyes open, Wang Jiexiang stared at Yin Xian’s back in the moonlight filtering through the window. All she could see was a vague, shadowy silhouette.

That shape made her think of Yin Xian’s pen name: Island.

He had said he had always been alone.

Even though he was within arm’s reach, he was still an island, apart from her.

On any other day, Wang Jiexiang would have stopped herself from overthinking at this point, patted her chest, and asked herself: why are you being so negative?

But today wasn’t like any other day.

Today, Wang Jiexiang had read the letters Yin Xian received in the past.

After reading the first one, she couldn’t stop. Wang Jiexiang was deeply jealous.

She was jealous of his pen pal.

Yin Xian could open up to them without holding anything back, talk about his feelings, his childhood; he told them about his worries, about the grandfather he was close to.

She envied the way he interacted with his pen pal.

Jealous of the relaxed, easy tone in the letters. Jealous of how freely they expressed their emotions, how unafraid they were of telling detailed stories—even when those stories might be seen as “wrong” by others, they trusted each other to understand, to empathize.

Wang Jiexiang was mad with jealousy.

She couldn’t understand—if that kind of exchange could exist between strangers, why couldn’t it exist between her and him?

If Yin Xian’s heart was an island,

Wang Jiexiang wanted so badly to step onto it, to do everything she could to fill the missing pieces in their relationship. But the closer she got, the more clearly she realized—her strength alone wasn’t enough.

To fill the gap, she had to first set foot on the island before she could start repairing the cracks.

But that island—Yin Xian’s heart—had never opened to her.

Even though she came with sincerity, even though the gate to the island was right there in front of her, she didn’t have permission to enter.