I pretty much stopped going to class after that, just sat in my dorm room and listened to music, tears seeping from my eyes. I’d never loathed myself so much as now. I didn’t deserve love, no one would ever be infatuated with me. One night, I got all the poems I’d written over the last two years, which I’d been storing at the bottom of my suitcase. There was a vacant piece of land behind my dorm building. There, I lit a match and threw one page after another into the flames. It crossed my mind that I should hold on to the ones I’d written for my father, but I could no longer remember which ones those were. Yin Zheng and my dad had merged into a single person, to whom I’d written all these verses. I threw them all into the fire, watching the papers curl and the words wither. They seemed to float in the air for a second before they vanished. Then I noticed someone standing on the other side of the flames. When they’d died down, he said to me, You know, you’re not supposed to light fires here. I said nothing, just walked away.

That guy was Tang Hui. He started asking me out on movie dates after that, and to be honest, his interest in me was a salve for my wounded dignity. When I’d regained my senses, I realized I ought to explain the situation to him, so I told him what had happened with Yin Zheng, and said he should forget about me. Silly girl, said Tang Hui, that wasn’t love. He pressed my hand to his chest. This is love, he said, can you feel it? You might not feel anything for me right now, but you will one day.

But I didn’t, not until the moment Tang Hui left me. That evening, I stood in the doorway watching him pack, which reminded me of Dad leaving us, of the devastation he left behind. I heard a cracking noise, and understood I was bidding part of myself farewell.

When I stopped seeing Xie Tiancheng, Tang Hui said to me, Now that you’ve sorted out what happened with your father, I hope you’ll stop getting entangled with these people from the past. Please let this be the last time, please respect me. Perhaps in his heart, no longer optimistic, he knew this wouldn’t be the last time, but he can’t have imagined the next time would be with Yin Zheng. In his words, I’d gone in a big circle, and ended up at my starting point.

It happened at something called “Parting and Reuniting,” the final event of Poetry Week last summer. The pictures of the two special guests were on the poster. I stood by the bookstore, staring at his face. The dark, slightly bulging eyes. The self-mocking smile. He’d gotten older. Maybe I only went in order to verify that. I felt suddenly sad, as if I was the one who’d abandoned him. My resentment disappeared in an instant, leaving only tenderness. I went into the bookstore and sat in the back row. I’ll just see him, I said to myself.