I got my thick coat from my suitcase. The heater doesn’t do enough, maybe because the room is so big. I’ve tried to make peace with the cold seeping through the walls, but I can’t stand it any longer. I went into the bathroom without turning on the light—the thin, stark fluorescent bulb made me feel even colder. I washed my face at the sink and thought about what would happen after tomorrow. Once he was dead, I would change all the lights in the house. The leaky pipe below the sink dribbled hot water over my feet in the dark, the temperature of blood.

Downstairs I fried a couple of eggs and made toast, and took my time eating. Then I got the ladder from the storeroom and pulled down the curtains in every room. The living room seemed transformed. I stood in the doorway, squinting at the large, bare windows. Daylight illuminated every mote of accumulated dust, stirring up secrets.

This afternoon, his body seemed to have shrunk under the heavy goose-down quilt. It was still gloomy outside, and death continued circling the room, refusing to descend. I felt a constriction in my chest, a throbbing at my temples. Slipping on my coat, I fled from the house and wandered aimlessly around campus. The disused elementary school, the veranda behind the library, the desolate bleachers at the sports field—none of these places reminded me of you. Then I got to the western side of Southern Courtyard. The old buildings there had been torn down, replaced by brand-new high-rise blocks with gleaming security gates. When I tried to get around them, I realized with a start that your building was still there, huddled against the boundary wall and hidden by the taller newcomers.

After so many years, I didn’t think you’d still be in the same place, but went to apartment 102 anyway and pressed the buzzer. Someone answered, Come in. I hesitated a moment, then pulled open the door. It was very dim inside and something was bubbling on the stove, filling the air with steam. A man was slumped on the couch with his eyes shut. Even through the gloom and foggy air, after more than a decade, I recognized you. Cheng Gong, I said quietly. You slowly opened your eyes, as if you’d dozed off from waiting so long for me. For a split second, I felt we must have arranged to meet and I’d forgotten. But you didn’t know who I was. Even after I told you, you remained detached. With some effort, I asked about the deserted school and our friends from the old days. Then the small talk was done and we lapsed into silence. I couldn’t think of a reason to stay any longer.