He was animated all through the talk, often interrupting the other guest. He had many opinions to share, and wouldn’t let go of the microphone. Then his eyes passed over the audience and suddenly halted. He kept talking for a moment, but quickly wrapped up and was mostly silent after that, staring at the floor. His answers to the audience’s questions were also sparse. Realizing that something was up, the emcee ended the event early. While everyone surged to the front to get their books signed, I picked up my bag and headed for the door. Jiaqi, someone called from behind me. I took a few more steps, stopped, and turned back. He was smiling at me. Jiaqi, we meet again. He held out his new collection. On the title page, he’d written my name and signed it with the date.

He brought me to the “Night of Poetry” he was attending that evening. We stood at a high table near the back of the room. I could see the field outside through the plate glass window. There’d been a wedding or something that afternoon, and they hadn’t taken down the floral arches. A couple of children were running between them in the dusk light. People kept stopping by to say hi to Yin Zheng. Between, we stood in silence, just looking at each other. Finally Yin Zheng said, You might not believe me, but I had a feeling you were in Beijing. Every time I’m here, I hope to bump into you. Are you well, Jiaqi? How time flies. I still think of you as the little girl in school uniform.

A man came by and said he had a couple of people to introduce. Yin Zheng left with him, but doubled back to say, Don’t go anywhere, okay? He waited till I’d nodded before going.

The room got crowded. A guy who looked like a college student kept staring at me, until finally he came over and asked nervously, Are you a poet too? I shook my head, and he went off. I had to go outside for some air. It was dark, and the sprinklers had come on, leaving the grass glittering. Workers were dismantling the arches, removing the roses first, leaving bare metal frames. At this moment, Tang Hui would be at home, planning our trip to Kyoto next month. But what did those beautiful streets and temples have to do with me? I would soon forget them, but I’d never forget this evening. Even if I hadn’t spoken to Yin Zheng, I’d still remember it. I stood there, smelling the damp grass, the fallen roses. Clouds roiled through the summer night. The same sorrow I’d felt aged eighteen descended on me, like a benefaction. I understood it was only at these moments, when my emotions were awakened, that I truly felt alive. All those long, empty hours, waiting for moments such as these. Like a beam of light rescuing me from the shadows.