Fang Zhiyuan pulled open the drawer, took out an old photo frame, and gently ran his fingers over the picture. He stared at the photo, memories surfacing slowly, clear and vivid.
He had spent many of his childhood summers staying with her family, just like that particular year. One day, they went to the park and took countless photos, including this one in front of the bamboo grove. Sunlight filtered through the green leaves, casting dappled shadows on them. At that moment, a butterfly fluttered past and landed gently on her shoulder. Their attention drifted from the camera to that unexpected,colorful visitor, and then they looked at each other and they shared a smile.
That single instant became frozen in time—etched into eternity.
The days he spent staying at her family were, perhaps, the happiest of his life.
His parents had strong personalities and divorced when he was still a child.
As a child, he couldn't understand how people who had once loved each other could become complete strangers, even bitter enemies, avoiding each other entirely. Why couldn't they be like Yi's parents, who stood by each other, no matter how tough life got?
He had once thought his family's downfall was due to hardship. But Uncle Ping and Aunt Fang had hard days too. Working ordinary jobs, living in an old, rundown house, sometimes caring day and night for their chronically ill daughter.
He slowly came to understand—every family has its own challenges. The difference lies in how people face them. Some blame each other, like his parents. Others choose to walk through life hand in hand,like Yi's family. It was then he made a silent promise to himself: one day, he would build a life with Yi, just like her parents had.
But he had been in too much of a rush. In pursuit of his so-called dreams, he had sacrificed the happiness right in front of him.
If he could do it all over again, he wouldn't have been so impulsive, so determined to leave right after his first year of his work, rushing off to America in search of a shortcut to success. He had let down Uncle Ping and Aunt Fang, who treated him like a son, and failed to honor Uncle Cheng's dying wish to look after Cheng Yi for a lifetime.
"All those years studying law—was it just to spend my life drafting contracts for others?"
"How long before we're working for ourselves?"
"I have to succeed. I don't want to spend my life penny-pinching."
"My mother and I got our visas. Once I'm in the States, I'll keep studying and intern at a firm."
Back then, he was drunk on ambition, completely blinded by it.
And she, she hadn't argued, hadn't protested. Even in her pain and sadness, all she could do was weakly question him.
"If we work hard here together, won't we also find success?"
She was right. The two paths were never mutually exclusive.
But how could she win an argument against a top law student?
All it took was one word—"naive"—and he dismissed everything she believed in.
It took him years to realize the truth: if you have the ability, you can thrive anywhere.
The one who was naive... was him.
His ignorance was rooted in his deep lack of confidence in his own abilities.
Too young, too naive.
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He had assumed that finding her would be enough to reignite what they once shared, especially since there were no marriage ties to complicate things.
But on the day they met again, her demeanor had been distant, her words laced with unresolved feelings. Over the next few days, his suspicions were confirmed.
She was avoiding him.
Calls went unanswered, and the hotel only had records of her staying there that one night.
She had vanished—again.
Now, once more, he had to rely on Old Guo. The only clue they had was the phrase "freelance at a translation company." For days, Old Guo had been tirelessly investigating every translation company in the city, but still, no trace of her.
Was she lying to him?
After years apart, had she really learned to lie?
Just then, the door burst open, and Old Guo came rushing in, out of breath. Years of helping him chase shadows had taken their toll—Guo was barely in his forties, but his receding hairline had expanded so dramatically he now truly lived up to the nickname "Old Guo."
"Found her! She's at a new consulting firm, started by a Hong Kong lady."
They contacted the company immediately. The response: she was on medical leave, recovering.
Still sick? It had been nearly two weeks.
At least she hadn't lied. She really had been working there, part-time as a translator, ever since returning two months ago.
Fang Zhiyuan tightened his grip on the photo frame. His eyes sharpened with resolve.
This time, he wouldn't let happiness slip away.
In this city, no matter how tough life was, there would always be a light on for him, a warm meal, and someone he loved waiting under that light, just for him.
America? After the initial thrill faded, it was nothing but dragging his weary, hungry body across a cold city, returning to a place that felt more like a kennel than a home.
One freezing winter night, it dawned on him: true success wasn't a title on a business card. It was a life full of love, warmth, and peace. A child's laughter. A partner's embrace. A home.
Ever since then, whenever a client praised his "successful career," it always felt less like a compliment, more like a cruel joke.