Chapter Eight

Promises can sometimes harden into obsessions.

This is especially true for the vows held dear in childhood. As the years pass, if one can no longer find the person with whom that promise was made to negotiate its terms, time and regret layer over it until it becomes an obsession.

Many things happened when Xie Zhailing was eight years old, among them the promise to buy back that house.

That year, the old man’s business failed, and the family house was sold. While moving, the two children, eyes brimming with tears, dug up the precious mineral ores they had buried in the courtyard. Xie Zhailing promised the other that, no matter what, he would find a way to buy the house back one day.

It was a solemn vow, sealed with a pinky swear.

That same year, one of the two who had linked pinkies was gone.

That same year, the one who remained endured all the insults and malice, yet held fast to the promise.

Twenty years have passed, and times have changed. The old house stood for a few more years before eventually being leveled during urban redevelopment. The land was sold to developers, and eight years ago, a commercial apartment complex was built in its place.

In its prime, the old man’s mansion had four courtyards. The front two were for apprentices and relatives, the old man lived in the center, and the last small courtyard was reserved for his immediate kin. Xie Zhailing and the young grandson the old man had taken in from a distant relative lived together in the two-story attic at the very heart of that last courtyard.

It was vast.

With such a large expanse of land now converted into high-rise buildings by the developers, buying it all back was impossible.

He did not have that kind of money.

So, Xie Zhailing settled for the next best thing. He hired a professional team to measure the site repeatedly, pinpointing the exact orientation and area of the attic where they had once lived.

He could not buy the whole house, but he had to preserve the room where they had spent their childhood. Back then, the attic had felt small—cluttered with the clay figurines the two children made, leaving no room to walk without tripping—but now, measurements revealed that he would need to purchase four adjacent apartments on that floor to cover the footprint of the attic and its surrounding corridor.

After paying off the old man's debts, he had no savings left. He spent several years working day and night, taking every job he could find, finally scraping together a down payment. Yet, when he approached the agency to finalize the purchase, the owner of one of the four units refused to sell under any circumstances.

That family had bought the unit secondhand, two months before Xie Zhailing had started his own acquisitions. The agent had gently informed him that the chances of a transaction were slim.

Sure enough, after four months of persistence and a twenty-percent markup on his offer, the owner still refused. In the end, the owner had the agent relay a message: he would not consider selling at any price. He loved the place, and its significance to him far outweighed the property itself. He told the agent not to bother him again.

The message was a dead end, but Xie Zhailing did not give up. He bought the other three units first, then called the agency every two weeks to ask if that apartment had been listed.

He had become accustomed to long waits.

If the apartment held meaning for the landlord far greater than the property itself, then for Xie Zhailing, its significance exceeded life itself—it was the reason for his existence.

He had already waited twenty years, so he did not mind waiting longer. He could wait until the building was demolished and squat on the spot; he would eventually get it, provided he had enough patience, provided he clung to this place like a restless spirit bound to the earth.

Do not look. Do not listen. Do not think.

So, when Jin Kui told him the apartment could finally be bought, for a fleeting moment, Xie Zhailing went blind to everything else.

This was the only piece of good news he had received in twenty years.

At the very least, he could still fulfill his promise. At the very least, he could buy that place, restore it to look like the little attic, and wait for him to return.

***

"Did the agent change?" Xie Zhailing paused when he saw the man walking toward them at the agency.

"I don't know," Jin Kui whispered. "I only picked up because I saw 'Real Estate Agency' on your phone display."

"Mr. Xie, hello, hello!" The man was very enthusiastic, grabbing Xie Zhailing’s hand and shaking it vigorously. "Little Li, who handled your case before, has resigned. Your file has been transferred to me. My name is Lu—just call me Little Lu."

"Hello," Xie Zhailing replied, shaking his hand back.

"This is the property you wanted to buy, right? Building 5, Unit 3, Room 203, Happiness Residential Complex," Little Lu said, holding a stack of papers to confirm.

He seemed efficient, which slightly eased Xie Zhailing’s misgivings about the change in personnel.

Xie Zhailing looked at the floor plan and nodded. "Yes."

"I noticed you inquired about this apartment every month, so when the landlord contacted me today, I called you immediately," Little Lu explained. He was indeed efficient, wasting no words. "The landlord hopes to raise the price a bit. It’s a self-occupied, exquisitely renovated unit, finished recently, and move-in ready. It’s a great choice, whether for renting out or living in."

Xie Zhailing frowned. "The landlord didn't say that before. We already offered twenty percent above market price. How much more does he want?"

"Another five percent," Little Lu said, clearly having already negotiated it.

Xie Zhailing paused for a second before setting down his water cup and nodding. "Fine, but I want to sign the contract as soon as possible."

Though he desperately wanted the house, the landlord's sudden change of heart left him with an unnameable feeling. The previous claim that the house meant more to him than money had suddenly become worthless.

Little Lu, naturally, agreed eagerly. Perhaps fearing Xie Zhailing would change his mind, he kept talking—about how the current landlord was in a hurry to sell, how the price wasn't actually high, how the market was good, how the apartment had great Feng Shui, how that complex only had a few such buildings, and how secondhand units always appreciated in value. Blah, blah, blah.

Xie Zhailing listened distractedly, waiting only for Little Lu to explain the next steps.

"Then let's head over to the apartment to meet the landlord in person. Once both sides confirm, we can sign the contract," Little Lu said, quick to move to the next stage when he saw Xie Zhailing’s indifference.

This was Xie Zhailing’s first time meeting the owner of 203. On the way to the complex, the agent continued to praise the greenery of the neighborhood, but Xie Zhailing had already drifted away.

This place was what he had once considered home; this place held the only beautiful memory of his entire life.

In the green belt at the entrance of Building 5, Unit 3, stood a large ginkgo tree. The old man had planted it when he was young. It was an ancient tree, and when the building’s foundation was laid, the construction had been diverted to spare it. If one looked closely, they could still make out characters carved into the bark by Xie Zhailing as a child: "Xie wants to become the world's number one black pottery master." Even now, one could barely discern the character for "Master."

It was thanks to this tree that Xie Zhailing could pinpoint the exact location of his childhood attic.

Seeing Xie Zhailing staring at the tree, Little Lu introduced it, noting that it was a protected old tree, nearly ninety years old. "Don't look at it as bare as it is now," he said. "In autumn, the fallen leaves turn this entire green belt into a sea of gold."

He added that because of this tree, the spacing between the buildings was wider than others, so even though the apartment was on the second floor, it received sunlight even in winter.

Xie Zhailing reached out and touched the carved character, smiling slightly.

He knew, of course. He also knew that the terrace of an apartment on the second floor faced this tree directly. In autumn, when the sunlight hit the ginkgo, it would bathe the room in a golden glow.

***

Tu Qin had been injured on set today. A crew member from the props department hadn't been looking while carrying equipment, tripped over a wire, and fell forward with a box. She had been standing right next to him and instinctively tried to steady him. He remained upright, but her chin was grazed by a sharp prop in the box. The cuts weren't deep, but after applying iodine, they looked yellow and miserable. There were no major scenes that afternoon, and Zhang Qin had given her a half-day off, as not all the screenwriters were needed.

This kind of sudden vacation was blissful, especially when it was windy and looked like snow was on the way, making it even cozier.

As Tu Qin neared home, she couldn't help but video call Yao Lingling to show off the pile of things she had just picked up from the courier station.

Yao Lingling and her mother were the type who couldn't stand each other for more than ten days. Before Yao Lingling’s leg had fully healed, her mother had left, grumbling. Yao Lingling hadn't been able to stay put at home either, so she took a job that didn't require climbing and went off to the grasslands to take photos.

Photography was grueling work; she would shiver in a moisture-proof sleeping bag for half a month just to get one decent shot. When she finally had a connection to answer the video call, she saw Tu Qin’s cheerful, scratched-up face and dozens of packages. She didn't know where to start, so she decided to throw some cold water on her enthusiasm. "You live on the second floor of a crummy apartment building with no elevator. How are you going to get all that stuff up there?"

"With a cart!" Tu Qin said happily. Her gloves were thick and she couldn't hold the phone properly, so she propped it on the cart's frame. The image bounced and blurred. "I also bought wooden boards to lay on the stairs so I can push it up!"

She was in such high spirits that even her tone was bouncy.

"Your face is a mess and you're still acting like that? Stop moving and let me see your face—your chin is swollen, isn't it?" Yao Lingling searched for Tu Qin’s face among the waist-high pile of packages. "How did this happen? I feel like someone would have to drag you by your hair and grind your chin against the concrete to get results like that."

"A prop—it had sandpaper on it. I’m actually curious myself how it managed to scrape my chin like that..." Tu Qin pushed the cart to the first-and-a-half floor to rest for a moment and showed Yao Lingling her face. She stopped mid-sentence, looking up toward the stairs.

There seemed to be someone on the second floor.

Usually, she was the only one living on that floor.

"What's wrong?" Yao Lingling asked, sensitive to the shift.

"There's someone on the second floor." Tu Qin pushed the cart to the side to clear a path and picked up her phone to head up.

The security in their complex wasn't strict, and insurance salesmen often came in to pitch products. However, the front door required an access card, so strangers usually couldn't get in, which meant Tu Qin wasn't overly worried about safety.

Yao Lingling whispered from the other end, "Don't hang up. If there's trouble, I'll call the police for you."

"Okay." Tu Qin reached the second-floor landing. Three men were standing in the corridor. The one in the lead wore a black suit and looked every bit the real estate agent.

The three of them stood in front of her door. The agent was on his phone, looking embarrassed as he explained to the other two, "They were definitely contacted earlier. Could you wait a bit longer? Maybe the landlord had an urgent matter and stepped out. Let me make another call."

Tu Qin stood at the landing, motionless.

She knew someone had wanted to buy her apartment for a long time. Back when she had just finished the renovations, someone had offered twenty percent over the market price, and she had just thought the person was crazy.

Later, she heard from the agent that this "crazy person" had bought the other three apartments on her floor.

They had been bought nearly a year ago, but no one had come to renovate or move in. She still received calls from agents every month asking if she wanted to sell, always on behalf of the same buyer, with offers rising alongside the market price.

So, he was a very wealthy "crazy person."

Today, she realized that this "crazy person" might be someone she knew.

Not exactly "knew," but she had met him twice, and both times had left a deep impression.

A... fever-prone, handsome, very rich, crazy person.