Chapter 1#
At six in the evening, the sky had darkened, just like this fallen city, full of despair.
The old wintersweet tree planted in front of the Yongjiang Restaurant had bloomed ahead of time, its faint fragrance stealthily drifting into one’s breath.
A car was parked in front of the restaurant. Seated in the back was a young, handsome man with a gentle and refined temperament, though at the moment his lips were tightly pressed together.
He was Jiang Yicen, the current owner of Yongjiang Restaurant, returning today to take one last look at his establishment.
After the war broke out, the restaurant could no longer stay open. Now someone had bought it at a low price, and he had no choice but to sell, only regretting that he couldn’t preserve the last piece of the Jiang family’s legacy. The sole comfort was that the money from the sale would be used to aid those left homeless by the flames of war.
No one knew that the owner of Yongjiang Restaurant would leave tonight. He had already decided to go to the front lines to defend his country.
Jiang Yicen instructed the driver, “Uncle Yuan, I’m going to pack some luggage. You drive around to the back door and wait for me.”
Uncle Yuan drove off.
Jiang Yicen stood at the restaurant entrance, about to go inside, when he saw several young people rushing over frantically from the other side of the street. Gunshots and screams rang out in the distance. Jiang Yicen’s body trembled slightly, his lips pale, his fists clenched tight.
The one running at the front called out to him. Jiang Yicen turned and saw it was Principal He from Guangji Middle School, followed by three students. All four wore resolute expressions, though their faces still bore a trace of youth.
Principal He looked at Jiang Yicen as if he’d found a lifeline: “Mr. Jiang!”
Suppressing both physical and mental discomfort, Jiang Yicen looked past him and pushed open the restaurant’s doors: “Principal He, come inside with me first!”
He led the group into the restaurant without locking the door, leaving the “Open for Business” sign hanging as usual, indistinguishable from any normal day.
Yongjiang Restaurant had once been one of the most famous establishments in Lincheng, but now war had robbed it of its former bustle. Even so, its past prosperity and splendor were still visible.
No sooner had they reached the second floor than gunfire erupted in the lobby below.
Someone shouted, “Where’s the owner?”
Jiang Yicen’s body quivered. He quickly said to Principal He, “Principal He, go up to the third floor, take the sixth room on the right—it’s a study. Move the statue of Guanyin on the bookshelf, and you’ll find a staircase behind it. Go down that way, cross the garden through the archway, and you’ll see a western-style building. The garden behind that building leads to the back door. My driver is waiting there.”
Principal He hesitated, worried: “Aren’t you coming with us? Those people saw us come in—they won’t let you off!”
Though pale-faced, Jiang Yicen reassured him, “Don’t worry. I’m the restaurant owner; I can handle this. I’ll buy you some time to escape.”
On this once-bustling street, only Yongjiang Restaurant was still open. Those men would surely figure it out. If Jiang Yicen left with them, no one would get away. He could already hear the jingle of the restaurant door being pushed open.
Principal He took him at his word: “Alright, be careful. Thank you, Mr. Jiang.”
Jiang Yicen pulled a fountain pen from his pocket—one he always carried—and handed it over: “My driver will take you away when he sees this pen.”
Principal He said no more and hurried upstairs with the three students. He only had time to glance back at Mr. Jiang, who was straightening his light gray suit jacket and walking steadily down the stairs.
Jiang Yicen rubbed his handsome face, then switched on the gramophone placed at the stairwell landing. In the past, to match the restaurant’s style, he would play symphonies. But this time, he put on a new record. Gently, he moved the stylus to the edge of the record, and soon the most popular song of the era filled the empty restaurant.
“Spring arrives, the windows are green with leaves, a young girl embroiders mandarin ducks beneath the window…”
Forcing a smile, he placed his hand on the pistol tucked at his lower back and called down to the people below as he descended: “What wind has blown the Major General here? Have you had dinner?”
Principal He and the students found a way out of the restaurant, reached the back door, and spotted a car. They handed Mr. Jiang’s fountain pen to the driver.
Uncle Yuan’s face turned ashen when he saw the pen. He had watched the young master grow up and instantly understood his decision.
No sooner had he taken the pen than a series of piercing gunshots rang through the night, thick as blood.
Uncle Yuan’s eyes reddened: “Young master…”
Jiang Yicen’s memories stopped at the searing pain of a bullet piercing his chest. Several Japanese soldiers, discovering that he had deliberately obstructed them and helped Principal He and his students escape, shot him dead in his own restaurant in a fit of rage. Of course, he had killed three Japanese in return—including a leader of some importance among the Japanese forces. One for three, he hadn’t lost out.
But he had clearly died. How could he open his eyes again? Given the Japanese brutality, there was no way they would have let him live to be rescued.
Jiang Yicen found himself lying half-reclined on a single leather sofa, tilting to one side. On the wall hung an embroidered thangka of Green Tara, embodying the principle of rescuing the suffering.
Before him was a small round tea table. Beside it was a window, but the sky had already darkened. In the glass, he saw his own reflection: his hairstyle had changed, his clothes were different, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses hung on his face. He looked like himself, yet not—he had never worn such glasses before.
He touched his chest. There was no trace of a bullet wound. Even the suit he wore was of light, smooth fabric, perfectly pressed. In contrast, his previous suit had shown signs of wear. Since the war began, he had learned to be frugal, pawning expensive clothes for money and food.
Suddenly, the familiar “Song of the Four Seasons” broke his reverie, connecting the spaces of two eras. He turned his head and looked behind him—there was a folding screen.
Jiang Yicen stood up to approach it, but after just three steps, his vision went black. He had to close his eyes and grabbed the screen for support, accidentally knocking over a wooden horse carving on top of it. The ornament fell onto the thick carpet with a dull thud.
After a moment, his dizziness subsided, and he could clearly feel a sharp pain in his forehead. He pressed it gently—it hurt, but not as much as the bullet wound in his chest. It seemed to have swollen into a bump.
Jiang Yicen looked up and, through the carved lattice of the screen, saw a young man with a coat draped over his arm. He hadn’t seen anyone so clean, so free of anxiety and worry, in a long time. The man looked like a son of some affluent family, with a fashionable outfit.
Their eyes met. Jiang Yicen thought he caught a hint of amusement in the other’s gaze, but perhaps he was mistaken.
Five minutes earlier.
Nan Shuyi parked the car smoothly, picked up the dark long cashmere coat from the passenger seat, and had barely stepped into Linjiang Restaurant when his phone vibrated. He tapped the Bluetooth earbud in his ear.
It was his friend Zhou Yi on the other end: “Nan Shuyi, you’re really not coming today?”
Nan Shuyi replied lazily, without much interest, “You guys have fun. I’m not going.”
Zhou Yi’s voice suddenly rose: “What are you doing? Wait, don’t tell me your dad actually dragged you to a blind date with the youngest son of the Jiang family.”
Nan Shuyi was silent, which was as good as a confirmation. “It’s not like I can actually marry a man.”
Zhou Yi chuckled, “If it were a soft, sweet girl, I could understand. How can your dad be so ridiculous?”
Nan Shuyi revealed the truth: “Last time he pushed me to get married, I told him I don’t like women. He remembered.”
As soon as he said that, laughter exploded from the phone: “He must really want you to get married! Isn’t your dad pretty old-fashioned? He’s okay with you liking men?”
Nan Shuyi: “Did he do it for me? No, it’s for his company.”
Nan Shuyi hung up the call directly. He took a few steps and stopped in front of the Republican-era exhibition area in the forecourt of Linjiang Restaurant. On the display stand sat a gramophone, and beside it were rows of shellac records, presumably placed there to match the restaurant’s historical theme.
After two seconds, Zhou Yi called back: “What else? If it’s not important, hang up.”
Zhou Yi suppressed a smile and said, “Does info on your arranged marriage partner count as important? The Jiang family’s youngest son is called Jiang Yicen, right? I have some impression of him.”
Nan Shuyi actually wanted to know what his blind date was like: “Go on.”
He never cared much about others. The Jiang family didn’t interact much with his, and he only knew that their family dynamics were complicated. He had only ever had minimal contact with the second son of the Jiang family.
Zhou Yi: “About half a month ago, I met him at my high school classmate’s birthday party. He’d just returned to the country a month earlier.”
Nan Shuyi browsed through the records on the rack and randomly pulled one out. “And then?”
Zhou Yi clicked his tongue twice: “His mother is Jiang Gongming’s second wife. The first one divorced him, and soon after, Jiang Yicen was born. It’s no surprise you haven’t heard much about him. When he was sixteen, his mother sent him abroad. Normally, I wouldn’t dislike that kind of overseas returnee, but at my classmate’s birthday party, I chatted with him a bit. That guy is so fake—every other word is ‘America this, America that,’ and he has to pepper every sentence with an English word or two, as if afraid people won’t know he’s from the US. The way he acts, ‘OK? Really? My god! Right!’ I wanted to punch him twice right there. Those few broken words—who can’t say them? Hypocritical and snobbish!”
Nan Shuyi had never met Jiang Yicen, so he didn’t comment. Zhou Yi continued evaluating his upcoming blind date on the phone.
“But, I’ll give him this—he does look good. It’s just a waste of his face. Oh, and someone took a photo of him at the party. I’ll send it to you so you don’t mistake him for someone else.”
As he spoke, the photo was sent to Nan Shuyi via WeChat.
Since Nan Shuyi was wearing earbuds, it didn’t affect his ability to check the photo on WeChat.
Zhou Yi thoughtfully circled the person in the group photo: “See that? That’s him.”
Nan Shuyi placed the record on the gramophone and moved the stylus onto it. The crisp singing of the last century flowed through the exhibition room.
“Spring arrives, the windows are green with leaves, a young girl embroiders mandarin ducks beneath the window…”
He freed up a hand to open WeChat and glanced at the photo.
Thud.
Nan Shuyi heard something fall onto the carpet behind the screen. He looked through the carved screen and saw someone inside. The other person turned his head with a confused and innocent expression, meeting his gaze. He looked a lot like the person in Zhou Yi’s photo, but his temperament was different.
He really was good-looking. He had eyes that spoke.
Nan Shuyi hung up on Zhou Yi: “I see him.”
“Jiang Yicen?”
Nan Shuyi hadn’t expected to meet Jiang Yicen like this. The man didn’t match the description Zhou Yi had given him. The person in the photo was indeed smiling—you could even see the pretense in that smile, the snobbery in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. But the person standing by the screen now had a curiosity he couldn’t conceal when he saw Nan Shuyi. The rimless glasses added a touch of scholarly elegance. His brows and eyes were beautifully shaped, giving him a refined and genteel look. There was a noticeable red mark on his right forehead, as if he had bumped it.
It really was a waste of a face, being such a snob.
Jiang Yicen didn’t pay much attention to the other man’s scrutiny. He didn’t respond immediately. The other man had addressed him with an uncertain tone—calling his name—which meant they weren’t familiar.
At this point, he only needed to confirm his identity with an acknowledgment: “Hello.”
In his memory, he had never encountered such a handsome, youthful, and refined young master from a big family. Someone with such striking features—even if he had only met him once, he wouldn’t forget. He had confidence in his memory.
Just then, Nan Shuyi’s phone rang. His father was calling: “We’re all here. Where are you?”
“I’m at the building.” With that, he hung up.
Jiang Yicen saw the man speaking into the air, his tone clearly not directed at him. It was strange. He noticed the black device in the other man’s hand.
A faint vibration came from the carpet. Nan Shuyi traced the sound and saw a vibrating phone on the floor. Assuming Jiang Yicen hadn’t noticed, he reminded him, “Your phone fell.”
Jiang Yicen saw a black device on the floor—identical to the one in Nan Shuyi’s hand. He bent down and picked it up. Its surface felt smooth to the touch. So it was called a “phone.” He didn’t know what it was for.
Calmly, he tucked the unfamiliar device away, his inner doubts growing stronger. He became even more cautious. Where exactly was this place?
Nan Shuyi put away his phone and took off his earbud: “Come on, they’re hurrying us.”
Jiang Yicen didn’t know where this gentleman wanted to take him.
He said nothing more and silently followed.