He couldn't stop apologizing to us.
The subway project had been planned for this area. The old apartment building we lived in needed to be demolished.
23
Standing here in 2020, I still don't know whether we were right or wrong, seven years ago, when we told the landlord his daughter was still living in the apartment.
The landlord didn't say whether he believed us or not.
He just sat there in the living room in silence, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
The demolition compensation—that was not a small sum.
With that money, his wife could get better care and medical treatment.
Maybe even the possibility of waking up.
The landlord said nothing. He just kept staring at the empty nail hole in the wall.
Something unfathomable and sorrowful in his eyes.
In the end, he made his decision.
When the landlord was leaving, I called out to him.
I said, I'm sorry. We're writers, that was just... just a story we were working on.
My buddy said: I'm sorry too.
The landlord gave a bitter smile. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."
24
That winter, my buddy begged and pleaded, and his mom made another trip up the mountain.
The monk said: When a house is demolished, the ghost living there has nowhere to go.
Over time, she would slowly dissipate on the wind.
And be gone from this world forever.
Is there any way to prevent that?
The monk said to recite the Rebirth Mantra, and let her be reborn.
We contacted the landlord. He thanked us.
He said wearily: "If you could do that, it would mean a lot."
He didn't offer to come over. Making that decision had been hard enough. He didn't have the courage to let his daughter see him again.
25
That winter, we scraped money together like crazy. Handed out flyers, wore mascot costumes, quit smoking.
We finally saved up enough for that Bluetooth speaker.
But we never imagined the first song it would play...
Would be the Rebirth Mantra, to help her depart.
We sat in the living room, telling her so many things.
Telling her the house was going to be demolished, that we had to leave, that we had no choice but to help her move on.
When I pressed the play button, we suddenly heard a faint knocking sound from the bedroom.
So fragile. As if pleading to stay.
Snow was falling outside the window. Ice on the roads.
People walking carefully, step by cautious step.
I'm so sorry.
The road is slippery. Be careful when you go.
Don't get hurt again.
I'm sorry.
The Rebirth Mantra was long. Each syllable, like falling snow, drifting slowly to the ground.
The speaker stuttered.
It cut to Stefanie Sun's "Encounter."
"I hear, winter's departure"
"I wake up, in some year, some month"
...
"Meeting you, you, is the most beautiful accident"
The little speaker returned to normal. The Rebirth Mantra resumed playing.
The apartment fell silent.
After playing "Encounter" one last time for us...
She left.
A thousand twists, ten thousand sorrows—all dissolving into the snowy street, into one final: I met you. And you.
26
Moving day came at night.
My buddy and I carried our luggage, sitting on the bus in silence, watching the snow fall outside.
We spotted that blood donation station again.
We donated one last time.
My buddy still couldn't handle the sight of blood. He grinned and said to me: Come on.
I reached out and covered his eyes, just like last time.
While the blood was being drawn...
My palm grew damp.
I was covering my buddy's eyes.
He trembled all over, tears streaming down his face.
The snow was heavy that night. The nurse at the blood donation station stared curiously at the two broke guys, crying nonstop as they donated blood.
Reality always blows away those unknowable memories like rain on the wind.
Meeting you and you was the most beautiful accident.
Meeting you was the most beautiful accident.
27
I went back to school, and my buddy returned to his.
Time crept along.
The old apartment building was demolished in a cacophony of noise, collapsing at last in late spring.
We'd both submitted our theses by then, and gone our separate ways to new cities.
I went to a new company. A CBD building shaped like a bar of soap.
Every day I wore a plaid shirt, drank cheap coffee, walked between cubicles.
Gradually I lost my sense of the seasons. Sometimes when I stopped to look, I realized my life was crammed with bosses who screamed and threw things, clients who loved calling at midnight.
Meager pay, barely enough for the skyrocketing rent.
Nothing left to save.
I heard that my buddy had switched companies, caught some lucky breaks, and gotten promoted to management.
Gradually he bought a house in the city and settled down. Found a loving partner.
I wonder if he still worries about ghosts, living with his girlfriend.
And I wonder whether our daughter has gone to a good family.
Whether she's still everyone's little treasure.
28
One spring, I was sent to the provincial capital on a business trip. Every day I dealt with difficult clients, ran myself ragged, and got a cold sore on my lip.
Just before heading home, I found out my buddy was in the same city too.
The provincial capital was by the sea, with a clean stretch of beach.
He'd brought his fiancée there for their wedding photos.
We skipped the small talk—that was our unspoken understanding.
I asked him: "Want to go back and take a look?"
29
I shook off the client by late night.
My buddy had been waiting for me at the subway station for a long time. We found each other, stood at the entrance smoking.
Looking around carefully—this was completely unfamiliar territory now.
That old apartment where the three of us had lived together was well and truly gone.
We sat in awkward silence for a while. So much time had passed; it seemed we no longer had much in common.
A few times we started talking about our lives, but always stopped at how unremarkable everything was.
Time had quietly changed something after all. Fervor always succumbs to the ordinary.
We rode the escalator, descending slowly.
Late at night, we were the only two in the station.
Yet the escalator kept going down, and down, with no end in sight.
I caught on and exchanged a look with my buddy.
A ghost wall?
I told my buddy to stay put and bounded down the steps, heart pounding.
Running all the way down, I saw my buddy's back again below me.
He heard the commotion, looked up, and saw me appearing from above.
It really was a ghost wall!
Could it be her?!
30
We couldn't be sure it was her.
Or maybe some wandering spirit playing a prank.
We waited.
If she was still here, she'd find some way to say hello.
But that day, we were stuck on that escalator for a long time. She never appeared.
The escalator crept steadily downward. Looking up, we could still see the faint glow of the station exit far above.
My buddy and I figured it out. We'd been descending the whole time. What if we tried going up?
It was a long climb. Pushing thirty, we huffed and puffed our way up, supporting each other, nearly collapsing halfway.
Finally, we stepped off the escalator and out the exit. Blinding light hit our faces.
An old apartment building. Stray cats napping on the ground.
Spring sunlight spilling across the pavement. The first-floor courtyard flowers in full bloom.
It was the spring she'd once shown me.
31
After the wedding photos were done, my buddy and I huffed and puffed our way up the mountain together.
That night, that spring scene didn't last long.
A few short minutes later, the blinding light faded. We came back to our senses and found ourselves still standing in the subway station.
The old apartment building had vanished once more without a trace.
On that mountain, we visited the monk.
The monk told us that it was a gift from the daughter.
The ferrymen on the River of Rebirth are all elderly grandmothers.
They often grant the wishes of little children.
Only, the grandmothers spend all day on the river, and after granting wishes, they ask the children to keep them company on the boat.
Ten years? A hundred years? The monk couldn't say for sure.
He just told us to keep reciting the Rebirth Mantra. The grandmothers are soft-hearted. If they hear it enough, they'll choose a good family for her when it's time to cross over.
32
We developed a habit.
Every day on the way home from work. He driving his car, me on a shared bicycle, in different cities, softly singing the same Rebirth Mantra.
"At that time, hundreds of thousands, millions."
"Incalculable, beyond words."
"Beyond thought, beyond memory."
All those hundreds of thousands of bygone days—don't think of them anymore, don't speak of them anymore.
Don't you remember a single thing.
The weight of those hundreds of thousands—we'll remember it. That's enough.
I'll keep singing.
(The End)