Time is the fairest thing in the world. It does not quicken for those in torment, nor slow for those reluctant to let go. In the blink of an eye, it was Lin Wan's birthday.
The day itself was unremarkable. The sun rose in the east as always, gentle light spilling through the window onto the bed. The alarm rang, as usual, at six-thirty.
It wasn't until Lin Wan stepped into the bathroom that she noticed something different. Her toothbrush lay across the rim of the glass, a neat strip of toothpaste already squeezed on. She stared at it for a long moment before slowly picking it up. When she rinsed her mouth, she realized the water in the cup was still warm.
Heavy-hearted, she finished washing and changed clothes. When she arrived at the restaurant in West Tulanya, Chen Jin was already seated at the table, reading the newspaper.
She sat down and paused at the sight of the breakfast in front of her. The fried egg was overcooked and oddly misshapen. The rice porridge looked as if it had boiled dry and been watered down again. Only the two small plates of cold side dishes looked halfway decent…
Chen Jin glanced at her, set down the paper, and wiped his hands.
"Don't be picky. It doesn't look great, but it tastes alright."
"You made this?" she asked, puzzled.
"Yeah."
"No wonder."
He coughed, his pride slightly bruised.
"Just count your blessings. Take a look at mine."
He pointed at his own plate with great seriousness.
"Happiness is all about comparison, you know."
She looked over—and couldn't help pressing her lips together in a brief, suppressed smile. She scooped a spoonful of porridge to taste. Honestly, no matter how badly you cooked something like this, it could only be so awful.
After a moment's thought, she said,
"You really shouldn't eat anything that's burnt."
Chen Jin rolled his eyes but obediently picked up his chopsticks and scraped off the charred corner of the egg.
He stepped out midway through to take a call. After Lin Wan finished eating, she cleared her dishes and carried them to the kitchen. As she washed up, something in the trash caught her eye. She looked down more closely—two completely burned eggs lay there in a crumpled heap.
She stayed frozen like that for a long time, staring with a complicated expression, her hands still holding the bowl, the tap still running—until Chen Jin's bemused voice sounded from the doorway.
"What are you doing?"
Only then did she realize the absurd picture she had taken. She hurriedly turned off the faucet, not looking back.
"Are you finished eating?"
"Mm."
"Bring your bowl over."
"Oh."
—
When everything was tidied up, Chen Jin, as usual, drove her to work. Halfway there, he suddenly pulled over to the side of the road and got out.
Lin Wan looked out the window and saw him walk into a flower shop behind them. When he emerged, he was holding a huge bouquet. In his pure black suit, he looked especially tall, straight, and solemn. Watching him approach with the flowers in his arms, she was struck by an oddly ill-timed association.
When he got in, she finally saw clearly that it was a bouquet of white roses. He held them out to her.
"For you. I just remembered I've never actually given you flowers."
She took them.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Looking at the delicate white roses, she couldn't help thinking of that bunch of wild asters on West Hill. He had given her flowers before. Immediately, she scolded herself inwardly—her memory was apparently better than his, and over something as trivial as wildflowers.
But she couldn't stop her thoughts from wandering. One thing led to another.
She remembered that night, how the music had stirred up a wave of sorrow in her, how she had clung to him like a lifeline, responding to him with desperate warmth… And how he had truly become her lifeline afterward, dragging her back from the edge of death. She could still see his ashen face that day…
The car stopped. Only then did Lin Wan tear herself away from the past.
"I'll pick you up for lunch," Chen Jin said.
Her throat felt tight. She managed a small sound of assent and climbed out of the car in a hurry, as if fleeing.
—
She was distracted the entire morning. The bouquet of white roses on the corner of her desk kept tugging at her attention.
Xiao Xie glanced at it curiously.
"Why doesn't your boyfriend give you red roses? Although white is nice too—symbolizes purity, nobility, and pure, innocent lo—"
Purity.
Lin Wan smiled bitterly to herself.
It wasn't even eleven when Chen Jin called to say he was downstairs.
He took her to a well-known restaurant in a quiet part of town. The decor was not ostentatious, but the place was famous locally; reservations had to be made three days in advance.
As they got out of the car, he naturally took her hand.
"Wanwan, we're meeting someone in a bit."
She halted.
"Who?" she asked in surprise.
"Someone who really wants to see you."
Seeing suspicion cloud her expression, he added,
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you."
Her heart tightened. She couldn't help guessing—but no answer felt quite right.
A waiter led them past the rock-lined pond in the first-floor lobby and up to a small private room on the second floor. There was already someone inside—a man in his fifties or early sixties. He wore a gray-blue shirt with no tie, his frame thin, his complexion pale. His features were refined, but there was a shadow of melancholy between his brows.
The moment Lin Wan saw his face, she froze on the spot.
The man's expression turned equally complicated when his eyes fell on her. He opened his mouth with some difficulty.
"Wanwan…"
His voice was dry, and he seemed to want to say more, but the words stuck in his throat.
He never got the chance.
After two stunning seconds, Lin Wan turned and bolted.
Pain flashed in the man's eyes, thick and heavy.
"Please wait a bit," Chen Jin said to him. "I'll go check on her."
—
By the time he caught up, Lin Wan had already hurried downstairs to the lobby. She stopped and spun around, pointing back in the direction of the private room.
"What is this?" she demanded.
"Your dad really wanted to see you," Chen Jin answered steadily. "So I helped arrange it."
A cold, humorless sound slipped from her nose. She bit down on the words as she hissed,
"You really are meddlesome. You even stick your nose into my family business."
His expression didn't change much. Right now, she was like a hedgehog with every quill raised, so sharp it made his heart ache. He sighed inwardly and stepped closer, speaking gently.
"Wanwan, I'm not trying to interfere in your private life. I just want you to have someone to rely on in the future. No matter how many wrongs he's committed, he's still your father—the closest person you have in this world."
Lin Wan sniffed, her anger ebbing into weary frustration.
"It's not that I don't want to see him. He doesn't want to see me."
A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
"I haven't seen him in four or five years. When I saw him just now, he felt like a stranger. I don't even know how to talk to him."
Chen Jin laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Wanwan, I understand how you feel—"
"No, you don't," she cut in with a twisted smile, pulling his hand away. "People like you—people who've been held in the palm of someone's hand all their life—will never understand."
He fell silent for a moment, then asked softly,
"But if your dad truly regrets it now… can't you give him a chance?"
She faltered, saying nothing, a flicker of struggle passing through her eyes.
"And you saw him," Chen Jin added quietly. "He's not doing well, physically…"
Lin Wan's head jerked up.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Type II diabetes, complicated by brain cancer," he said, meeting her gaze.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Cancer? How… how is that possible?"
"I went to see him before the New Year," Chen Jin replied, sighing. "I hoped the two of you could reconcile. His condition was serious back then. He was in the hospital under observation."
Tears shimmered in Lin Wan's eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Wanwan, you weren't in a stable state back then. I was afraid it would hit you too hard. Your dad felt the same. He's been carrying a lot of guilt all these years. When he looks back at what he did…it makes him even more ashamed to face you."
Lin Wan suddenly let out a harsh, broken laugh.
"And that makes sense to you? Just keeping it from me? If he had really…"
She couldn't say the words. She covered her mouth with her hand as tears streamed freely down her face.
"Wanwan." Chen Jin took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped her tears. "Don't worry. Your dad had surgery after the New Year. It went well. He's recovering now."
"You shouldn't have done this," she whispered, shaking her head. "Either of you."
And with that, she turned and ran back toward the private room.
Watching her retreating figure, Chen Jin smiled in quiet relief—then sighed. He'd been smoking too much lately; the moment he paused, the craving kicked in. Knowing father and daughter would need time to talk, he decided to find a quiet corner and slip out for a cigarette.