Chapter 22 — I Shall Never Set Foot in Nam Thanh Again

"No."

His hand hung suspended in mid-air, trembling slightly. I turned my gaze toward the small box he held.

"Tu Bach, I have no use for that jade medallion. I am not going to Nam Thanh. And as for you, I have no use for you, either."

Something behind his eyes shattered, the light within them dimming into hollow fragments.

"You were never like this before."

That phrase again. It had become so repetitive that my ears had grown callous to the sound. I looked at him and asked, "And what was I like before?" Tu Bach parted his lips, but no sound came out. I decided to finish his sentence for him.

"Before, I was the one who helped you organize your files."

"I was the one who begged my father to pull strings when you were injured."

"I was the one who made excuses for you to your mother."

"I was the one who swallowed the bitter pills of every provocative message and photograph sent by Man Tri Ha."

"I was the one who took the initiative to reconcile every time you gave me the cold shoulder."

"I was the one who uprooted my entire life to follow you to Nam Thanh."

With every word I spoke, the color drained further from his face until, in the end, he could barely bring himself to meet my eyes. I asked with a calm, detached curiosity, "Tu Bach, are you mourning the loss of me, or are you just mourning the loss of the person who lived only to serve you?" His fingers tightened around the box until his knuckles turned white.

"Thanh Chi, I admit I failed you in many ways."

I nodded slowly. "You failed me in every way."

He offered a bitter, self-deprecating smile. "You won't even grant me the courtesy of a polite lie anymore."

"There is no need."

"I have already made things clear with Man Tri Ha," he said, his tone turning desperate. "She will not appear by my side again. I will not seek her out, either."

I found it almost laughable. It was the same script from my past life. Every time he and Man Tri Ha crossed the line, he would crawl back to me with the same hollow promise that it would never happen again. It had taken me a long time to realize that his "never again" simply meant "I will make sure you don't find out next time." I looked at him squarely. "Whether or not you see her has nothing to do with me."

"How can you say it has nothing to do with you?"

Tu Bach took a step forward, then stumbled, forced to stop by the persistent pain in his leg. "Thanh Chi, we have grown up together since we were children."

"Grown up together." That phrase was a favorite of his, as worn and convenient as a tattered ticket he kept in his pocket, hoping to use it to board the train of my life again and again. I asked, "And so what?"

"And so, it cannot end like this."

I tilted my head. "Then how should it end?" Tu Bach looked at me, his expression clouded with a frantic sort of confusion.

"You can go to Kinh City if you want. I won't stop you. Once my leg heals, I can apply for a training program near Kinh City. We don't have to be so far apart."

In my previous life, I had waited years for him to say those words. I had waited until the end, only to be met with the public announcement of his relationship with Man Tri Ha. Now that he had finally said it, I felt nothing but a hollow desire to laugh.

"Tu Bach, even now, you still don't understand, do you?"

He froze. I continued, "The problem was never the distance."

"When I was in Nam Thanh, I was close enough to touch you."

"But you never truly saw me."

Tu Bach’s eyes reddened. "I see you now."

"It’s too late."

The words slipped from my lips, yet I felt no sense of triumph. There was only an immense, weightless relief. It was as if a boulder that had crushed my chest for lifetimes had finally rolled away, leaving me light enough to breathe. Tu Bach looked as though he wanted to speak, but my father stepped out of the apartment building, holding his car keys. He didn't seem surprised to see Tu Bach; he simply turned his attention to me.

"Do you have everything you need, my dear?"

I nodded. "Everything is packed."

I was leaving for Kinh City today. Not to begin my formal studies, but to attend the summer program for incoming freshmen at the Kinh City Institute of Foreign Languages. In my past life, I had skipped this program because Tu Bach had insisted I join him for early training at the Nam Thanh Sports Institute. By missing that summer, I had missed the orientation for the exchange program that followed. One small deviation had led to a lifetime of regret. This time, I would not make that mistake.