March in Chiang Mai brought temperature swings like the ups and downs of life.
Fang Zhe stood on the hotel balcony, looking down at the pool shimmering faintly in the night, a deep blue mirror. From the twenty-eighth floor, the entire ancient city lay before him, its myriad lights scattered like stars. In the distance, Doi Suthep faded into the dusk, a vague silhouette—visible yet untouchable.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, a silent sigh. It was Lin Jingxue, the third missed call. He understood her concern. Lately, he’d been drawn to high places more often—hotel rooftops, office building tops, anywhere he could overlook the city. That commanding view gave him a sense of detachment, as if he could cast all his troubles below.
The night breeze carried the quiet melancholy of the ancient Lanna Kingdom, brushing his face like an invisible hand soothing his soul. Fang Zhe gazed at the blue glow of the pool, and a sudden wave of dizziness hit him, as if he stood on the edge of time’s cliff. He gripped the railing instinctively, his knuckles whitening from the effort, clinging to it like the last straw of life.
"Daddy." His daughter’s voice rang clear in his mind, a light piercing the dark. It was from a video call two days ago: his youngest was painting, asking without looking up when he’d return to Bangkok. "Soon," he’d said. She nodded and went back to her colors, her eyes full of innocence and trust. That purity was a key, gently unlocking a long-shuttered door in his heart.
The phone buzzed again, this time a WeChat message: "I’m coming to Chiang Mai tomorrow." Seven simple words, yet heavy as a mountain. Lin Jingxue was always like this—no questions, just action. Like last year when she decided to stay in Thailand: while everyone asked why, she was already packing, ready to go. Her love was like flowing water—unassuming, uncontending—yet it filled an empty heart through the tiniest cracks.
Fang Zhe lingered on the balcony until room service arrived, startling him into realizing he’d missed dinner. Alongside the food on the tray was an envelope—the document handed to him at that afternoon’s negotiation table.
He didn’t open it. There was no need. Those seeking to profit from his misfortune, those once-humble faces now puffed with arrogance, those Crocodile tears and hollow concern—it all left him exhausted and sickened, like scars rubbed raw on his soul.
The phone screen lit up again: "At the airport." Three brief words carried untold worry and care.
Fang Zhe checked the time—1 a.m. The last flight from Bangkok to Chiang Mai would be taking off now. He pictured Lin Jingxue in the empty terminal, alone in the silent night, traveling miles for him. That care was like winter sunlight—warm but not burning—piercing his cold heart.
The sky outside began to lighten, like a new page slowly turning. Fang Zhe stood, packed his bags with steady, deliberate movements. The document remained on the tray, a past he refused to revisit. Some memories, once opened, stirred only more pain; some people, once remembered, were hard to forget. This time, he chose to let go.
At checkout, he met Lin Jingxue in the lobby. She wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, carrying that familiar backpack, her face tinged with fatigue yet still clear and bright as a spring. The world’s chaos seemed unable to cloud the pure light in her eyes.
"To Singapore?" She glanced at his luggage, her voice calm as water, without a ripple.
Fang Zhe nodded gently. "I’ll treat you to coffee when I’m back," he said, his voice low, like a vow.
She smiled faintly. "Good." One word, brimming with boundless understanding and acceptance.
Sunlight slanted through the lobby’s glass doors, casting bright squares on the floor—a snapshot of life. Fang Zhe stepped forward into the light, Lin Jingxue’s quiet gaze following him. He knew that when he returned, things might be different—but some things would remain, like the steadiest anchor in life.
Lord, at the edge of this abyss, You reached out, showing me hope’s light through her eyes. I thought falling was my only fate, unaware You’d cushioned the depths with soft wings, awaiting my return. Is this Your mercy? In the darkest hour, granting the brightest guidance?