Chapter 2 — Promising You a Lifetime of Peace

He chuckled softly, tapping his index finger twice against the menu.

"Stir-fried pork with fish sauce, sweet and sour pork ribs, sauteed green vegetables, and also..."

He looked up, locking his gaze with mine.

"Corn and rib soup, the one you always loved drinking back then. This place makes it quite well."

I froze in place. So many years had passed, yet he still remembered with such clarity. The private dining room fell into a heavy silence for a few seconds. Ta Vuong set down his teacup and suddenly spoke.

"If it weren't for you back then, I probably wouldn't have made it to where I am today."

I raised my eyes, a trace of confusion lingering in my expression. He spoke in a lazy, reminiscent tone:

"On graduation day, you lent me fifty yuan."

Memories flooded back in an instant. On the day of our high school graduation, Ta Vuong had unexpectedly received an audition call. His mother refused to let him go and had frozen his bank accounts. He had cornered me at the back door of the classroom. The young man leaned forward slightly, lowering his gaze to look at me:

"Desk mate, lend fifty yuan to your buddy here for a taxi? My card's locked."

Without a moment of hesitation, I reached into the inner pocket of my school bag and pulled out four ten-yuan bills and two five-yuan bills. The small bills were crumpled and wrinkled. Catching sight of the meager cash, Ta Vuong paused:

"Aren't these..."

"No, it's fine, I still have money."

I cut him off, shoving the bills directly into his hand. He didn't ask any further, picked up his bag, wedged the stack of cash between two fingers, and waved it lightly in front of me with a carefree smile:

"Deal. Your buddy here has to catch a ride now. Next time we meet, I'll pay you back five million."

That very evening, I went to work washing dishes at a restaurant, my wrists soaked in water until the skin turned pale and waterlogged. Yet, my mind held only the image of Ta Vuong’s departing smile. I scrubbed dishes for four straight hours, earning forty yuan.

"And so, I am here now to fulfill that promise."

Ta Vuong curved his lips, tapping his phone screen a few times. A sharp "ping" echoed through the room, and my phone screen lit up. My bank account balance updated: 5,000,000.00 yuan.

05

"No! I can't accept this!"

Panic made my voice crack as I shoved the phone back across the table toward him. Ta Vuong glanced at it briefly, then slowly pushed the device back to my side:

"Whether you accept it or not is your business; whether I transfer it or not is mine."

"But this is simply too much..."

My words were cut off, leaving me entirely speechless. Ta Vuong was just about to say something more when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing slightly:

"Pardon me, the production crew is calling. I need to step outside to take this."

He stood up and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. I sat alone on the sofa, staring blankly at the long string of zeros. Five million. He transferred it just like that, without a second thought. Suddenly, a violent cramp twisted through my stomach. I let out a soft groan, doubling over in pain. My trembling fingers reached into my bag to retrieve a bottle of medicine, popping the cap and dry-swallowing two pills with a gulp of orange juice. The bitter tablets caught in my throat, a foul taste rising instantly. Leaning back against the sofa cushions, I had to rest for a long while before the agony subsided. Another notification popped up on my phone from Ta Vuong: When you have free time, can I come see you again? Would that be alright? I did not reply. Tucking the phone away in my pocket, I forced myself up to handle the bill, only to be told by the receptionist that Ta Vuong had already settled it. Emerging from the restaurant, my stomach revolted again with a wave of nausea. I squatted by the curb, dry heaving for a long time as passersby cast curious, lingering glances. Wiping the corners of my mouth, I stood up and staggered toward the subway station. The phone vibrated again, still Ta Vuong: Let me know when you get home safely. I typed out two words: Arrived. Then I deleted them, finally sending just a single character: Um.

06

I lay awake the entire night. Finally, I dragged myself upright, opened my laptop, and logged into the writing platform. My private inbox displayed over a dozen messages. The newest one came from "Moon Beneath Chang'an," a reader who had followed my serializations for five years. Great author, is this story coming to an end already? Is it going to be a tragic ending? Why does it have to be tragedy! QAQ. The corners of my mouth twitched into a bitter smile as I replied to her: The distance between them is simply too vast; they were never meant to fit together. The reader responded almost instantly: But both of them are trying so hard to move toward each other, striving to become better people together! Besides, deep in their hearts, they are each other's absolute best, aren't they? I stared at those words for a very long time. Hey now, there are still some plot twists coming up later, I can't spoil them just yet~ She sent back a smiling emoji: Great author! Don't torture us like this! HE is so much better, right? Oh, by the way, I'm planning to visit a temple recently, I'll send you a little surprise then! Temple. My fingers froze mid-stroke on the keyboard. Near the suburban film set in the neighboring city where Ta Vuong was currently shooting, there happened to be an exceptionally famous and revered temple. I clicked on the profile page for "Moon Beneath Chang'an." The account had been registered five years ago—the exact year Ta Vuong had debuted. I stared blankly at the screen for a moment before closing the tab. I resumed typing on the keyboard. After finishing a passage, I read through it myself, only to delete the whole thing and rewrite it. Wrestling with the words until dawn, I couldn't manage to preserve a single sentence.

07

Ta Vuong began messaging me every single day. Sometimes it was a photo of his boxed meal from the film set, accompanied by the caption: Today's braised pork is saltier than yesterday's by a factor of eight. Other times it was a solitary streetlamp after finishing work past midnight, tagged with: Goodnight, kind desk mate. I replied to every single message. Sometimes I answered promptly, while other times, absorbed in writing, I wouldn't notice until two or three hours later. He never rushed me. Yet, without fail, whenever I sent a reply, he would answer back instantly. That afternoon, he sent a photograph of a steak in a Western restaurant, exquisitely plated. Enlarging the image, I noticed a corner of his hand visible at the edge of the frame—across the back of his hand stretched a fresh, angry red scratch. What happened to your hand? He immediately sent a voice message. I pressed play:

"Got scratched by a tree branch up on the mountain. It hurts like hell."

I couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of my lips, before suddenly realizing something was amiss. I replayed the voice message once more.