Chapter Eighty-Seven: A Phone Call

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Entertainment Around Us – No Pop-up Ads
Story takes place: April 2006
Recommended song: Annie Yi – Are You My Happiness?
Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.

Just as the interview suggested, Jiang Yihan and Kim Jaejung had been troubled recently. The effects of the movie were far from as simple as mentioned in the interviews. The flood of online letters, the relentless questions in every interview, all of it had become a source of disturbance in both their lives. The powerful impact of the movie lingered on and on; no matter how much Jiang Yihan and Kim Jaejung tried to deny it, the wave persisted. Yet, what could they do? Life had to go on.

Schedules, schedules, schedules. Appointments, appointments, appointments. This was Jiang Yihan’s life—busyness piled upon busyness. Even catching a glimpse of the world outside from the van window felt like a luxury, for every spare moment was spent sleeping. Over the past year, Jiang Yihan had barely ridden the subway, let alone wandered the bustling shopping districts of Dongdaemun or Myeong-dong. Busyness had become the main theme of his life. The constant approach of investors and advertisers, the endless invitations for movies and TV dramas, all signaled a future that would only get busier.

But everything changed today, all because of a single phone call.

“Xiaohan? It’s Mom. How have you been lately?”

“Oh, Mom, I’ve just been busy. Hardly any time to sleep.” As he picked up his mother’s call, Jiang Yihan allowed himself a rare moment of childishness. Glancing at Jiang Ziyi, who was dozing off beside him, he smiled. “Hehe, Yiyi’s asleep too. We’ve both been so busy, so tired. Mom, I want to go home, I want to eat your cooking, haha.”

“Silly child, you can never earn all the money in the world. Your health is what really matters.” His mother’s familiar nagging brought a warm smile to Jiang Yihan’s face.

“Mm, Mom, how’s Grandma? I miss her so much. I really wanted to come home for the New Year, but work was just too hectic. I miss her chicken and mushroom soup the most. How is she? Is she feeling better? Didn’t you mention earlier that she wasn’t well?”

“Xiaohan, I called today to talk to you about your grandma.” Zhou Bing’s voice softened.

“Grandma? What’s wrong?” Jiang Yihan sat up, his mother’s tone reminding him of earlier calls, as though she’d wanted to talk about Grandma’s health before.

“I told you before, she hadn’t been feeling well and was on medication.” Zhou Bing paused, then continued, “A month ago, they confirmed it was cancer—pancreatic cancer.”

The word “cancer,” both foreign and familiar, instantly cleared Jiang Yihan’s mind. There was so much he wanted to say, but nothing would come out. His mind went blank; he didn’t even fully grasp what cancer meant, or what the prognosis was. He could only hear his mother’s voice.

“We’d wanted you to come back earlier,” Zhou Bing said, referring to their phone call from Thailand. “But your grandma insisted—‘Xiaohan has important things to do, don’t call him back.’ So, in the end, we didn’t. Three weeks ago, since the cancer was still in its early stages, the doctors advised surgery. The operation was a success, and she’s been recovering well. Grandma often says she misses you…” At this point, Zhou Bing broke down in tears.

Random memories flashed through Jiang Yihan’s mind. He had kept in touch with home over the past few weeks, but his mother’s unnatural tone, her hesitation—all those strange signs, he should have noticed. Yet he had been so preoccupied with recent events and successes that he’d neglected all of it, never once thinking of returning home. Guilt, deep and wordless, suddenly opened up inside him, swallowing him whole and leaving him breathless.

“Grandma was doing well. Just a few days ago, the doctors said she’d recovered enough to be discharged. But yesterday, her condition suddenly changed. There were surgical complications; her lungs became infected. Now, her lungs have essentially failed. She can only breathe with the help of a machine. The doctors said…” Zhou Bing’s sobs grew louder, her helplessness piercing Jiang Yihan’s heart. “The doctors said she might only have a few days left.”

The world fell silent. Echoes rang endlessly in his ears, his mother’s words reverberating in the emptiness. Jiang Yihan tried several times to speak, but found no sound would come out. Though there had been signs, the reality crashed down with such violence he could hardly breathe. He turned to look at his sleeping sister, Jiang Ziyi, her rosy cheeks peaceful, murmuring softly in her dreams. Up front, Li Ran was focused on driving, calm as ever. But for Jiang Yihan, the world’s colors had all shifted. Only after a long time did he manage to speak.

“Mom, don’t cry, please don’t cry.” His voice was hoarse, yet unexpectedly calm. Li Ran, overhearing, slowed the car and pulled over. “Mom, calm down. I’ll come back, okay? I’ll come home—just wait for me.”

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Perhaps it was Jiang Yihan’s composure, or perhaps the necessity of facing reality, but Zhou Bing forced herself to stop crying and replied, “Xiaohan, hurry home and see your grandma.”

The call ended, but Jiang Yihan kept holding the phone, unsure what to do next.

Li Ran turned and saw Jiang Yihan’s pale face; instantly, he knew something had happened. He hurried over. “What’s wrong, Cat? Was that your mom? What’s happened?”

It took a while for Jiang Yihan to come back to himself. He met Li Ran’s eyes, a little flustered. “I have to go home, today—I have to go home.”

Li Ran pressed Jiang Yihan’s hand down, speaking each word clearly. “Calm down, Cat, calm down. Tell me what happened.”

Jiang Yihan’s gaze was vacant, as if he hadn’t heard a word. He struggled free, grabbed his phone, trying desperately to dial a number. “I need to call Uncle Li, tell him I have to go home, right now!” But he couldn’t find Li Tong’s number. In that moment, it seemed as if all his strength had left him after comforting his mother. He was submerged in a flood of panic.

“Jiang Yihan! What’s wrong with you?” Li Ran’s shout startled Jiang Yihan—and woke Jiang Ziyi from her sleep.

Rubbing her eyes, Jiang Ziyi sat up, groggy and confused as she looked at her two older brothers.

After the shout, Jiang Yihan suddenly stilled. His lost composure returned, memories flooding back. He bit his lip hard, silent, silent.

For a long moment, the car was filled with a dreadful silence.

At last, Jiang Yihan found his senses. He glanced at the anxious Li Ran and the bewildered Jiang Ziyi, his voice icy and calm, so calm it was frightening. “I have to go home. Grandma is in the hospital.”

Li Ran’s expression shifted rapidly; understanding dawned. Knowing Jiang Yihan so well, Li Ran immediately grasped the situation. Beside them, Jiang Ziyi also woke up completely, all drowsiness replaced by shock at her brother’s words.

“Brother… is Grandma very sick?” Jiang Ziyi’s voice trembled, edged with fear.

“Mm, Yiyi, Grandma has cancer.” The sudden calm in Jiang Yihan’s voice was almost chilling.

Cancer—such an ordinary word, yet it held a terrifying power, freezing time in an instant.

Before, when Jiang Yihan heard about others having cancer on TV, he’d laugh and say, “How could so many people have cancer? That’s just nonsense.” Watching strangers’ lives bow before cancer on the screen, he’d feel a twinge at life’s fragility, but it was always someone else’s story. Now, with cancer invading his own family, he found it all so absurd. Why, just because of that word, must their lives be surrendered? Why, just because of that word, should their world stop turning?

Li Ran drove straight to the company at top speed. Flight arrangements were made by Li Tong, who got them the earliest tickets.

Inside the car, a strange atmosphere prevailed. Li Ran drove as fast as he could, even with a police car chasing them from behind; Jiang Yihan stayed eerily calm, as if cancer were no more than a minor illness; Jiang Ziyi bit her lip, her eyes dull, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, even though she couldn’t explain why.

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After less than five minutes with Li Tong, tickets were secured—the soonest was a 6:30 a.m. flight the next morning. Li Tong didn’t know what to say to Jiang Yihan, only patted him on the shoulder. After seeing them off at the airport, he lingered for a long time before leaving.

With no luggage, no warning, the three of them were suddenly preparing to leave Korea.

Even though there had been signs, even though previous phone calls had hinted at it, the reality still arrived so abruptly, as if struck by a falling brick while walking down the street—random and unfair.

Sitting in the airport, gazing out at the night, Jiang Yihan saw nothing at all. Memories slowly surfaced—learning to speak, going to school, moving abroad—everywhere in his life, his grandmother’s shadow lingered. Yet, now, try as he might, he couldn’t recall her face, just that shadow. He tried so hard to remember, but it was as if everything were veiled, obscured.

In his thoughts, he dialed Li Yimei’s number. Though time apart had cooled things, occasionally they still contacted each other, but not often. Yet, at this moment, he desperately wanted to hear her voice, for no reason at all. The phone rang for a long time, but there was no answer. Hesitating, he tried again. Twenty times he called, but she never picked up. The numbness in his fingers spread, and with his phone nearly out of battery, Jiang Yihan finally gave up. He put the phone back in his pocket and stared into the inky night.

From dense darkness to the break of dawn, Jiang Ziyi, exhausted by tears, finally drifted off to sleep; Li Ran sat beside her with a cup of coffee; Jiang Yihan stood by the window, unmoving, until he saw sunlight streaming in.

A flight to Beijing, then to their provincial capital, then a six-hour drive home—fifteen hours in total. Jiang Yihan didn’t close his eyes once. His mind was blank, trying to recall something, anything, but nothing came.

At the front door of his home, Jiang Yihan suddenly found himself afraid to go in. After Jiang Ziyi ran inside, he lingered nearby, unwilling to step forward. Li Ran noticed, and stepped back to him. “You’re not going in?”

“I’m suddenly really scared,” Jiang Yihan said, his voice steady, though his eyes showed panic.

“Your grandma would want to see you,” Li Ran replied, simply.

Jiang Yihan looked at Li Ran, then at the house before him. He hesitated, then finally forced himself to move.

Entering the house, the first floor was the main hall, the storage room beside it cleared out. Neighbors from the village, young and old, crowded around, murmuring among themselves. Yet Jiang Yihan could hear none of it, only saw their mouths moving, and even walking felt strange, as if he were treading on cotton, the world unreal beneath his feet. In his ears, the echo returned, pounding dully.

At the door to the room, he saw Zhou Bing. When she spotted him, she turned, and he could see her eyes, swollen from crying and bloodshot. She pulled him into a fierce embrace, as if using all her strength, but he felt nothing, his body numb. Only after a while did Zhou Bing let go, and Jiang Yihan entered the room.

The room was bare, just a bed and a table, medicine bottles piled everywhere. From afar, his mother’s voice came, “Your grandma said she doesn’t have much time left, so she had to come home. She just got back last night, and she’s been waiting for you.”

Jiang Yihan walked to the bedside. Jiang Ziyi was there, talking softly to their grandmother. As Jiang Yihan approached, his grandmother’s eyes followed him.

Looking at her, Jiang Yihan saw she was little more than skin and bone, the quilt pulled up to her chest, with a tube emerging from the right side, connected to a large IV bottle. Another drip was in her arm. Her mouth was propped open with a large tube to help her breathe, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, and from time to time, phlegm would escape her lips, which Jiang Ziyi would gently wipe away.

In her eyes, Jiang Yihan saw tears. She seemed so fragile, as if she might slip away at any moment. Unable to bear it any longer, he bit his lip, fighting to hold back his tears, but they came anyway, unstoppable. He tried to steady his breathing, to regain composure, but it was useless. At last, he managed to choke out a trembling greeting, his own voice unrecognizable, as if it echoed from centuries away. “Grandma, it’s Xiaohan. I’m home.” And with that, he lost all control. Tears flooded his face, blurring everything from view.