Chapter 74 Reasons to Give Up

Chapter 74: The Reason to Give Up

After returning from Hong Kong, the days passed quickly.

Lin Haoda is not a person who feels secure easily. He even has to hold onto bad habits for a while before he can let them go, and he has suffered a lot for this, but he has also received some comfort—like being told he is someone who values relationships, who is nostalgic, a soft-hearted good person.

Lin Haoda never used to think there was anything wrong with this, until recently when certain things began to surface in his memory. For example, during his time in Hong Kong, he got used to sleeping on the right side of the bed. After coming back, for a long while, every time he pushed open the bedroom door, he still habitually walked to the side farthest from the entrance before getting into bed. He never used to drink coffee, but now, occasionally, when he can't sleep at night, he will go downstairs to the 24-hour convenience store and buy a hot Americano. It only makes it harder to sleep, but at least he feels he has an excuse.

There are other small issues in other areas, which he prefers to call the troubles of living alone.

Lin Haoda doesn’t usually wear perfume, and he rarely uses home fragrances. But during the time he lived in Guan Junshan’s apartment, the housekeeper would add a citrus-scented fabric softener to the laundry detergent. The scent was very faint, and it cheered him up. At first, Lin Haoda thought it was Guan Junshan’s cologne, and he politely asked what brand he used. Guan Junshan told him he didn’t wear anything.

Lin Haoda didn’t believe him. When no one was looking, he sneaked up and sniffed Guan Junshan’s collar, and sure enough, a faint, pleasant fragrance lingered. Guan Junshan listened calmly to Lin Haoda’s accusation, offering no excuse. When the car pulled up to the apartment building, they entered one after the other. Before Lin Haoda could react, Guan Junshan scooped him up by the waist and strode toward the bedroom.

Guan Junshan held back his strength. Lin Haoda bounced lightly on the mattress and struggled to get up, but Guan Junshan quickly pressed down on him, pressing him into the bedding. The sun had not yet completely set below the horizon. A few faint rays of light filtered through the curtains. In the dim room, Lin Haoda’s heart was left hanging. As his head spun and his mind went fuzzy, he caught that pleasant citrus scent again.

After he came back, alone at home, he always felt the air was cold and empty. He went to every supermarket he could find, trying to find that fabric softener he had once smelled.

He went to the discount supermarket in his apartment complex, to the large shopping mall two or three subway stops away, and to the members-only import supermarket in the central business district. But the result was the same every time: he couldn’t find the product he wanted, and he couldn’t understand why he was doing this.

Lin Haoda’s world seemed to have suddenly been hit by a long-overdue rainstorm.

Just like the persistent, unending dampness in Hong Kong. As for the half of the bed that would never again be slept in by another, the coffee that lost its effect the moment it was swallowed in the dead of night, and the fading scent in his memory—these were like wounds that had been seared then forced to heal over time. In the end, they would all disappear, whether he agreed or not.

Whether they would heal fully or not, because it was so hard to find himself again, he would always be left with the lingering regret.

During the New Year, Lin Haoda went back to his hometown.

On New Year’s Eve, his uncle’s family wanted to go up the mountain to offer the first incense of the year. Lin Haoda drove them to the foot of the mountain and then sat alone in the car waiting.

The mountain night was so quiet that even Lin Haoda, who usually liked silence, couldn’t stand it. He turned on the radio and flipped through more than a dozen channels before it suddenly dawned on him: given his location and distance, he could never pick up any Hong Kong entertainment news channels.

At midnight, the mountainside was lit up with incense fires, and the sound of firecrackers echoed through the mountains.

Lin Haoda took out his phone and, following the mental list of contacts, sent New Year’s wishes to each one. Everyone was staying up for the New Year, so replies came quickly, one after another. The phone kept chiming, never ceasing.

After exchanging pleasantries with everyone, his gaze finally fell on the pinned conversation at the top.

A dark avatar, a frozen timestamp, a chat window that would never show a new message.

Lin Haoda lowered his eyes slightly, stared at it expressionlessly for a while, and then put the phone back in his pocket.

The next day, Lin Haoda went back to the foot of the mountain.

Unlike at night, there were many people offering incense during the day. A light, bluish-gray smoke drifted from the base of the mountain all the way up to the sky, and the tip of the pagoda at the summit was faintly visible among the trees.

Lin Haoda parked the car, picked up a free bundle of incense at the entrance, stepped across the threshold, and saw the solemn statue of the Buddha. He bowed with great sincerity, then walked to the front of the hall, knelt on a hard kneeling cushion, and kowtowed three times with great reverence.

He inserted the incense into the deep pile of ash, watched quietly for a moment, and after a long hesitation, sent a message.

“I offered a stick of incense for your mother. I hope she recovers soon.”

Because he didn’t expect a reply, he didn’t say “Happy New Year.”

Details like these were countless. If this were a romantic drama, all Lin Haoda could contribute would be performances like these—without value or meaning, just an overflowing monologue. Because it lacked a counterpart, it seemed a little pitiful.

Lin Haoda is like that: not proactive, not assertive. Only when pushed to the brink does he react in the way any ordinary person would.

Still, getting along with someone like him—or dating him—should make it relatively easier to part ways gracefully after a breakup.

After the New Year, Lin Haoda returned to Shanghai. He came back early, before the holidays were over. The station and the streets were not crowded, and there was a faint smell of sulfur in the air.

The weather wasn’t great either; his hair and coat felt covered with a thin layer of dust. Lin Haoda took a shower and was about to throw his clothes into the washing machine when he suddenly remembered that at a certain chain supermarket, a sales assistant had told him they'd be getting a new shipment in stock after the New Year, which might include the scent he was looking for.

So he closed the washing machine door, threw on his coat, and went out.

It took about seven or eight subway stops to get there. By the time Lin Haoda walked out of the station, it was already completely dark.

The supermarket was almost empty. The sales assistant was busy checking inventory and restocking, leaving him alone to browse the shelves at his leisure.

Lin Haoda picked out two brands. They smelled similar, but neither was exactly the same. When he went to pay, because the items were new arrivals, the clerk had to go to the warehouse to look up the product numbers, so they left Lin Haoda at the counter and asked him to wait.

The checkout area was separated from the home appliance section by just one aisle. Because there were few customers, it felt a bit empty. The closest thing to Lin Haoda was a display area for a certain brand, where different-sized LCD TVs of the latest model hung on the wall, very eye-catching.

The clerk had been gone for about five minutes. Lin Haoda folded his arms, bored, and looked around.

Just like the first time he heard Guan Junshan’s name on the car radio, Lin Haoda was first stunned, his gaze drifting aimlessly for a moment. Then, finally, he refocused, slowly settling on the largest screen in the display area.

Guan Junshan’s face appeared in his field of vision without any warning.

So many LCD screens, large and small, tens of thousands of colored pixels, together formed that slightly cold but very handsome face—familiar yet unfamiliar. Lin Haoda unconsciously held his breath for two seconds.

The background audio was very low. Lin Haoda couldn’t hear what the news was saying. He stepped forward anxiously, went around the narrow exit of the counter, and walked two or three steps into the display area.

The sales assistant assumed he was looking to buy something and greeted him eagerly: “Sir, are you looking at TVs? What size would you like?”

Lin Haoda seemed not to hear. He stared blankly at the television, his face and lips were pale. His expression was decidedly off—he didn’t look like a customer shopping.

The sales assistant called out “Sir” a couple more times. Seeing no response, he finally turned up the TV volume and quickly stepped aside.

“…has postponed the engagement ceremony to the end of the month. Earlier this morning, Guan Junshan also made his first public appearance after nearly a month away from Hong Kong. According to insiders, he has temporarily stepped away from Mrs. Wu’s bedside and returned to the country precisely to fulfill his marriage contract with Miss Jiang.”

Lin Haoda was dazed. He moved his eyes stiffly.

It took him several minutes to process what the television had said and what it meant.

But he still didn’t understand. Hadn’t they said he wouldn’t marry Miss Jiang?

They were still dating, weren’t they? They hadn’t broken up. If Guan Junshan had really made this decision, why hadn’t he told him?

Was it because it was difficult? He would have to find the right words, give explanations, offer reassurances, and make a clean break—to make Lin Haoda give up willingly, without any possibility of entanglement… Was that it?

Or were there other reasons? Some hidden hardship? Even if just a little, Lin Haoda would be willing to endure for now, as he had long been so good at doing.

He could keep up some meaningless persistence for Guan Junshan, even if there was no hope.

If there was no reason to give up, then he didn’t have to.

His phone was in the inner pocket of his coat. He pulled it out, found Guan Junshan’s number, his finger trembling slightly above the screen.

The central air conditioning hummed quietly above him, the warm air blowing on his cheek.

Lin Haoda pressed his lips together. The phone screen gradually dimmed and finally went completely dark.

The news segment ended, and the channel switched to a commercial.

Lin Haoda heard a very cheerful melody and a childish voice saying the ad slogan: *Make a new wish for the new year, every day brings new hope.*

He touched his chest. Just below his collarbone, a small peace pendant rested against his skin, warm from his body heat.

This was also something he had wished for Guan Junshan at the temple that day when he burned incense.

Peace, safety, and may everything go as you wish.

This was Lin Haoda’s first wish for the new year, and the second he made it, he didn’t even know if he would ever see Guan Junshan again.

What exactly was he hoping for?

As he walked out of the supermarket, snow began to fall from the night sky.

It was the kind of tiny snow grains that made a soft rustling sound when they landed on clothes or skin.

A gust of wind blew by. Lin Haoda was carrying two large bottles of fabric softener and remembered he'd forgotten his scarf when he left home. The street in the night was brightly lit, the pavement wet and glistening under the lights.

He drew the cold air into his lungs; it couldn't warm him, and as it flowed out it stole his body heat, turning into a hazy white mist that vanished into the night.

For a moment, perhaps because it was too cold, or because what he held was too heavy, he suddenly felt a sense of weary self-delusion: liking Guan Junshan was hard, and he had already tasted the bitter consequences, yet he kept lying to himself.

A day later, the flight to Hong Kong landed on schedule.

Lin Haoda’s luggage was simple—just a medium-sized backpack. He took the subway to the city center and booked a hotel nearby.

He had been to Guan Junshan’s company before, so it wasn’t difficult to find the right place. At three in the afternoon, there were few visitors. The receptionist at the front desk was drowsy, staring at her computer. Just then, Lin Haoda walked across the lobby toward her and said in a gentle tone that he wanted to see President Guan.

“Sorry, President Guan’s schedule needs an appointment in advance,” the receptionist recited the usual spiel, then asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

Lin Haoda shook his head, telling her “no,” and didn’t intend to cause trouble, so he asked, “Can I wait here?”

“Of course.” The receptionist had seen this many times and pointed him to the lobby sofas without hesitation. “You can sit on any of the sofas in the lobby.”

Lin Haoda thanked her.

He found a corner spot to sit, facing the lobby so he could easily see people coming and going. Almost everyone around him was businesspeople talking business; only he, in a baseball jacket and jeans, looked out of place.

When it came to waiting for Guan Junshan, he was practically an expert.

Lin Haoda opened a video he had downloaded earlier and put in his earphones. He had bought chocolate mint candies at a shop near the station when he got off the subway, and he casually unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth.

He initially thought he would have to wait until Guan Junshan came downstairs, but Guan Junshan appeared sooner than he expected, looking like he had just finished work outside. Through the glass, Lin Haoda saw him get out of a car, talking on the phone, and then tap on the front window.

The tinted window rolled down slowly, revealing Yang Yue’s face. Guan Junshan hung up the phone, bent down to exchange a few words with Yang Yue, and then the car drove off.

Guan Junshan walked up the steps alone, and the automatic doors slid open. Lin Haoda watched him stride in, one hand in his pocket.

As he passed the front desk, Guan Junshan was stopped. The admin took out several documents for him to sign.

Standing there, Guan Junshan took the folder with one hand and quickly flipped through the pages, signing quickly. Just as the staff was about to put away the signed documents, he held them down. “Wait.”

He reopened one of the documents, flipped to a certain page, frowned, and examined it closely. His expression gradually turned unpleasant. At that moment, no one would dare to disturb him, but the admin still spoke up: “President Guan…”

She seemed hesitant, calling out to him but not saying what was wrong.

Guan Junshan looked displeased. He raised his eyes to look at her, but saw the young woman’s lips part slightly, her gaze shifting a little, fixing on a point behind him.

Following her gaze, Guan Junshan turned his head and unexpectedly saw Lin Haoda standing four or five meters away. His fingertips, still holding the pen, relaxed for a moment.

“President Guan…” Lin Haoda opened his mouth, trying to find the right words, but ended up with the most clichéd opening: “Long time no see.”

He pressed his lips together slightly, perhaps trying to smile at Guan Junshan. But this smile, once it reached his eyes, wasn’t much to look at.

Guan Junshan didn’t speak. He turned to face him, his eyes still cold.

Lin Haoda nervously pressed his fingers together. “I… I had some other business in Hong Kong, so I thought I’d come see you.”

After hearing this explanation, Guan Junshan frowned almost imperceptibly.

“Everything’s done,” Lin Haoda realized he'd said the wrong thing and quickly added, “No plans this afternoon.”

The more he said, the more confused it got. The worse it became. The more he tried to cover it up, the more obvious it was.

He lowered his eyes, not daring to look at Guan Junshan. The afternoon sunlight made the marble floor very bright, glaringly so. Besides that, part of the light also fell on Lin Haoda’s profile. Guan Junshan didn’t look down at the tiles; his eyes were only on Lin Haoda’s sharp chin, rimmed with gold from the sunlight.

He didn’t realize that his own thumb, by his side, was unconsciously curling and rubbing against his index finger.

If Lin Haoda had looked up at that moment, he would have noticed Guan Junshan’s Adam’s apple rolling slightly. But he didn’t, so he only heard Guan Junshan’s calm and indifferent voice coming from beside him.

“I’m busy right now. There’s no need for us to meet.”