Chapter 27 Part 1

Song Ran watched Li Zan's figure disappear into the boarding gate. Behind her, the crew members of the flight she had been on were all deplaning.

A flight attendant asked in surprise, "Why are you still standing here? We're leaving."

"My apologies." Song Ran pulled her carry-on suitcase and trotted away. Just as she exited the corridor, her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number from Liang City.

She immediately answered, "Hello? Hi?"

Li Zan on the other end probably didn't expect her to be so quick. He paused for a moment before saying in a low voice, "It's me."

She stopped by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the tarmac outside, her heart beating gently. She said, "I knew it was you."

"Oh," he said. "I was just trying it to see if I remembered the number wrong."

"You didn't," she said. "You have a great memory."

After saying it, she realized it was a pointless statement. If he didn't have above-average concentration and memory, how could he have become a one-in-ten-thousand bomb disposal expert?

He asked, "Are you coming back from vacation?"

"Yes, I went to see my mom," she said. After saying it, she thought, 'He'll definitely find it strange that my mom isn't in Liang City.' But she didn't explain, feeling there would be other opportunities in the future.

She asked, "What about you?"

He paused for a moment, then said, "A business trip."

She asked, "Is it something related to bombs again?"

There was only the sound of background noise from his end; he didn't answer.

Just then, the sound of an in-flight announcement came from his end of the phone. He said, "I have to go now."

"Okay. Have a safe trip."

"Mm."

Song Ran put down the phone and looked out the glass window. She saw a faint reflection of the indoor scene on the glass, her face, with lips pressed together as she gazed out, floating on the surface.

It wasn't late when she left the airport, but it got dark early in winter, and it was a bit cold.

On the way home, Song Ran sat in a taxi, the chill not yet gone from her body. She held her phone tightly in her hand, as if clutching an important pill to calm her heart.

The next day at work, as soon as Song Ran entered the TV station, every colleague she passed on the way smiled at her.

Song Ran was puzzled. When she reached the news department's floor and walked into the office area, she saw a large bouquet of fresh flowers on her desk, and her colleagues were all smiling at her.

Song Ran grew even more baffled. She pulled out the card on top and opened it. It read: "Congratulations to Reporter Song Ran for winning the gold medal at the Holland International Photography Award with the photo CANDY. —Liang City TV News Department"

A thumbnail of the photo was attached to the card.

CANDY—SONG RAN

"Congratulations!!!" her colleagues burst out in unison.

Xiao Qiu came up and gave her a big hug. "Ran Ran, you're amazing! I knew you'd win an award! The Pulitzer hasn't been announced yet, but I'm sure it'll be yours too!"

Song Ran closed the card and smiled. "Thank you."

Everyone came forward to congratulate her:

"Song Ran, congratulations."

"You're really famous this time."

"What's the rush? This is just a warm-up. The Pulitzer in April is the real bombshell."

Song Ran thanked everyone. She placed the flowers to one side and stuffed the card into her drawer.

Ever since she started treatment, her emotions didn't fluctuate as easily as before.

More than the psychological counseling, she believed it was mainly thanks to the medication. But the pills had some side effects. Sometimes she felt like a drug addict; after taking the medicine, she would be calm and positive, but after a while, she would fall into depression and self-doubt.

It was as if she was no longer Song Ran, but a collection of pills in a jar.

But the doctor told her not to self-examine or put pressure on herself, that recovery takes time.

And now, having just taken her medicine in the morning, she viewed the award with great indifference—neither excited, nor repulsed or fearful.

However, before she could even settle into her seat, Liu Yufei came looking for her.

Having won the award, a crowd of leaders came to express their concern and condolences, asking if she had any difficulties at work, and promised to give her various lenient policies and support in the future.

After meeting with all the leaders, the morning was nearly over.

Back in the office, Song Ran had nothing urgent to do. After pondering for a moment, she subconsciously bypassed the firewall and went on the foreign internet. At first, she just checked her private messages. Sasin and many foreign reporter friends had sent her congratulations.

She read them absent-mindedly, then went to browse other comments. This time, critical voices occupied a large camp.

A French newspaper even published a special editorial regarding CANDY's award, attacking the professionalism of the Holland International Photography Award itself, denouncing the award for long profiting from human disasters, and pushing waves of journalists to take pride in seeking out the grotesque and tragic, twisting human nature in the pursuit of fame and fortune.

Song Ran didn't look at the tens of thousands of comments under the article and closed the browser.

Towards the end of the workday, Song Zhicheng called and asked her to come home for dinner. He had found out about her award from the news.

Her father's excitement almost pierced through the phone. He hadn't gotten off work yet, and Song Ran could hear a chorus of praise from the other end. It was probably the uncles and aunties from her father's workplace.

Song Ran didn't really want to go home, but she didn't want to disappoint Song Zhicheng, so she agreed.

After work, Song Ran drove to the Archives Bureau Family Courtyard.

This winter was reluctant to leave. Spring Festival was already over, yet another cold wave had arrived. The deciduous trees in the courtyard were still a patch of dreary gray, their bare branches pointing straight at the sky.

The sky was also vast and gray. She heard it was going to snow again in a few days.

Getting out of the car, a bone-chilling cold rushed to meet her.

Song Ran tightened her scarf and trotted into the building corridor. She climbed to the third floor and walked to the door. Just as she was about to push it open, she heard voices from inside.

Yang Huilun said, "A few days ago, I heard someone say that depression is just being in a bad mood?"

Song Yang said, "Yes, and no. Aiya, you don't get it. Just think of it however you want."

"You've been putting me in a bad mood recently, too. I'm afraid I'm getting depression myself."

"Why are you dragging me into this all of a sudden?"

"Hey, how do you think your sister got this illness? She wasn't a hot-tempered person before, but now I'm on tenterhooks whenever I talk to her."

Song Yang: "I told you, you don't get it. It's psychological trauma."

Yang Huilun: "Psychological trauma? She seems perfectly fine to me. Her work is going well, she even won a major international award. Shouldn't she be in a good mood? What is there to be so worked up about?"

Song Yang couldn't make her understand and changed the subject. "Why are you cooking so early? You'll just have to heat it up again later. It's the middle of winter, can't you just wait until she gets back to cook?"

"I was just worried you'd be hungry and wanted you to eat something first." Yang Huilun sighed. "Ai, I don't even know when she'll be home, and I don't dare to ask. I called her the other day, and she yelled at me. My heart still trembles when I think about it. A few more times like that, and I'll get depression too."

"Oh my god, that was so long ago. You still remember it? I argue with you every day, are you going to have to kill me?"

Song Ran's hand was on the doorknob. The stainless steel was icy and cold, a chill spreading from her fingers straight to her heart. She slowly lowered her hand, stuffed her cold fingers back into her pocket, turned around, and went downstairs without a sound.

The north wind howled through the corridor. She stood in the draft for a moment and took out her phone. She opened Li Zan's contact, her thumb trembling in the cold wind as she hesitated to press dial.

After a dozen or so seconds, the phone shut down from the cold.

She put the cold phone back in her pocket and walked out of the corridor.

This winter seemed endlessly long.

Li Zan returned to Liang City after more than a week, and the temperature was still below freezing.

He got home at night. He had flown from New York to Di City, then taken a connecting flight back. He was exhausted to the point of collapse. When he opened the door with his key, the lights were on. Father Li was in the kitchen simmering chicken soup.

Li Zan shut the cold wind behind the door. His voice was a little hoarse as he called out, "Dad."

"You landed an hour ago. What took you so long on the road?" Father Li's concerned voice came from the kitchen.

"There was traffic." Li Zan changed into slippers in the entryway.

"Come warm yourself by the fire," Father Li said, rubbing his hands as he walked to the sofa. He turned on the electric heater and spread a small quilt over it. "I don't know what's up with this weather. Spring has started, but it's still so cold."

Li Zan didn't speak. He sat down and put his hands under the quilt to warm them.

Father Li sized him up for a few moments, wanting to ask what the doctor said, but Li Zan just stared blankly into space without a word.

His father understood then and didn't ask again.

He busied himself in the kitchen for a while, brought all the dishes to the table, and said gently, "Ah Zan, come and eat. I've been simmering this chicken soup all afternoon."

"Okay." As Li Zan stood up, he pressed his lips together and gave a faint smile.

The father and son sat at a right angle to each other, eating their meal in silence.

Midway through the meal, Li Zan saw a pile of nutritional supplements on a shelf and asked, "What are all these for?"

"Your leaders from the unit sent them," Father Li said. "While you were gone, the instructor, the political commissar, and the leaders from the political department all came to the house to do ideological work."

Li Zan's chopsticks paused, and he looked up at his father.

"Your military branch is special, you're an officer, you've earned merits, and now you're disabled. The army won't let you retire. They said it's against policy. If you insist on doing this, it's a slap in the face to the Jiang City Military Region. It'll sound terrible if word gets out."

Li Zan lowered his head and shoveled rice into his mouth, not saying a word.

"But your instructor also said that if you don't want to return to the unit right now, you can do some non-profit work outside, under the guise of recuperating from your injuries. You have to maintain regular contact with the unit and report on your ideological state." Father Li stood up and brought over a piece of paper. "These are a few places designated by the team where you can work."

Without even looking at it, Li Zan took the paper and tossed it aside.