Qing Yun didn't bring it up immediately.
The thought arrived quietly, the way memories always did — not sharp, not painful, just present. It happened one evening after dinner, when the house had settled into its familiar stillness and the river outside reflected a thin line of light.
She was sitting on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, flipping through a book without really reading it.
"Ze Yan," she said suddenly.
He looked up from his tablet. "Mm?"
"There's something I've been thinking about."
He set the tablet aside at once. He always did that now — as if nothing mattered more than whatever she was about to say.
"My old apartment," she continued, voice calm. "The first one. Where Si Yao and I lived."
His expression didn't change, but his attention sharpened.
"I left everything there," she said. "I didn't take anything. Not even the things that mattered."
"You didn't want to go back," he said quietly.
She nodded. "At the time, I thought opening that door again would pull me backward. So I chose to leave it all behind."
She paused, searching for the right words.
"But lately… I realized something."
She looked up at him. "That place wasn't just pain. Everything I did there is part of how I became who I am now."
He waited.
"I don't want to live in the past," she said. "But maybe… keeping one or two things wouldn't hurt."
A faint, thoughtful smile touched his lips.
"You're wondering what happened to it," he said.
"Yes," she admitted. "The landlord probably cleared it out. Or a new family moved in. It wouldn't be strange if everything was gone."
She said it evenly, without regret — only acknowledgment.
Ze Yan leaned back against the sofa, studying her face for a long moment.
"They didn't throw anything away," he said.
She frowned. "How do you know?"
The realization arrived before he answered.
She stared at him. "Ze Yan."
He exhaled softly, the way he always did when he knew resistance would be useless. "I bought it."
Of course you did, she thought.
"When?" she asked.
"Not long after you left."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the book. "Why?"
He didn't evade the question.
"I was desperate," he said simply. "I thought… if you ever came back there, I might finally find you."
The room fell quiet.
"I kept everything the way it was," he continued. "Had someone clean it regularly. No renovations. No changes."
She looked at him, emotions moving beneath the surface but never breaking through.
"You didn't tell me."
"There was no need," he replied. "It wasn't for me."
She let out a slow breath. "You really believe protest works on you?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Never has."
She almost laughed.
In the end, she didn't argue. Arguing with him about this would have been pointless. He was the kind of man who, once he decided something was necessary, would carry it out quietly and thoroughly.
So instead, she said, "Thank you."
---
They went the next morning.
The car stopped in front of the familiar building, tucked between two aging apartment blocks. The walls were a little more weathered, the paint a shade duller — but the structure was the same.
Qing Yun stood at the entrance for a moment.
"I thought it would feel strange," she said. "But it doesn't."
"Because it waited," Ze Yan replied.
Inside, the stairwell smelled faintly of detergent and old concrete. When she unlocked the door, the sound of the latch echoed softly.
The door opened.
Nothing had changed.
The couch sat exactly where it had been. The table by the window. The small bookshelf against the wall.
Even Si Yao's backpack lay on the sofa — slouched casually, as if its owner had just stepped out for a moment.
Qing Yun stopped breathing for a second.
"This is…" Her voice trailed off.
Ze Yan leaned against the doorframe, watching her quietly. "I told you."
The only difference was the fridge.
It was newer.
She walked into the kitchen, opened it — and froze.
Inside were neatly arranged groceries. Fresh vegetables. Milk with a recent date. Eggs. A small container of cut fruit.
She turned slowly. "Ze Yan."
He grinned, unrepentant. "I wanted to make sure that if you ever came back, there would be food."
"For how long?" she asked.
"Five years," he said. "Maybe a little more."
She stared at him. "Even after you found me?"
"I forgot to tell the cleaner to stop," he replied lightly. "But nothing goes to waste."
She closed the fridge and leaned against the counter, letting out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"You're unbelievable."
"You married me anyway."
"That's not a defense."
"It's a fact."
---
She moved through the apartment slowly, touching things without haste.
Her books. Her clothes. Si Yao's notebooks stacked neatly in a drawer.
The light by the window was just as it had always been — pale, honest, unforgiving.
She picked up a framed photograph from the shelf. It was of her and Si Yao, taken on a cheap phone, both of them smiling awkwardly at the camera.
"She was never disappointing," Qing Yun said quietly. "Always tried her best. Even when things were hard."
Ze Yan stood beside her. "Because she had a good sister."
Qing Yun glanced at him, then nodded once. "I know. I am."
Before leaving, she chose carefully.
The framed photo.
A few books Si Yao loved.
Si Yao's first trophy — small, chipped, meaningless to anyone else.
On the way home, the city moved past the car window in a blur.
Qing Yun held the photo frame against her chest.
In the backseat, she leaned closer to Ze Yan and whispered, "Thank you."
He didn't answer.
He only reached for her hand and held it — steady, present, unchanging.
And for the first time in a long while, the past felt light enough to carry.