The window in the rented apartment wasn't shut properly.
The cold March wind slipped in, carrying a drizzle that stung against the back of Chen Rang's hand.
Cold. He shivered hard, his eyes falling back to the photo album lying open on the coffee table—like an old dream covered in dust, painful the moment you touched it.
His fingertips hovered above the group photo in the middle.
In the picture, he was grinning like an idiot, his arm wrapped tight around Lin Xiao's shoulders.
The background was the beach from last summer; the sunlight stretched their shadows out long, as if they could go on forever.
Now, looking at it again, the sunlight was so blinding it felt like needles stabbing into his eyes.
Three days ago, Lin Xiao had been sitting right here on this couch.
She placed the engagement ring gently on the table. The soft *clink* of metal against glass sounded like a sigh, but the words that followed were heavy enough to crush him:
"Chen Rang, let's just end this. You're always like this, with no plan for the future. I can't wait anymore."
Chen Rang opened his mouth.
For a long time, not a single word came out.
He wanted to argue.
He wanted to say he had just landed a big deal, that the commission would be enough to cover the down payment for their apartment.
He wanted to say he had gone to check out a housing project last week—the south-facing unit, balcony with a view of the river. He had even secretly planned in his head to put a wicker chair on the balcony, so he and Lin Xiao could watch the sunrise together.
But when it came out of his mouth, all that was left was a spineless plea:
"Just give me a little more time, okay?"
Lin Xiao didn't look back.
Her heels clicked against the floor—*clack, clack, clack*—each sound like a nail driven straight into his ears.
The door shut with a *click,* and that familiar figure vanished from sight completely. Only then did he collapse onto the couch, staring blankly at the platinum ring—that ring he had saved three months of salary for, sized perfectly for Lin Xiao's finger.
Now, it was just the last straw that crushed five years of love.
For the next three days, Chen Rang didn't go to work.
Didn't answer any calls.
Takeout boxes and empty bottles piled up in the apartment. The air was filled with a sour stench, like the rot of his mood.
He curled himself up in the blanket like a wounded hedgehog, not daring to pull the curtains open—afraid of seeing sunlight outside, afraid of couples holding hands downstairs, afraid that any familiar scene would drag back his broken dreams of the "future."
He didn't dare look in the mirror either.
The man inside—sunken eyes, messy stubble, lifeless gaze—wasn't him. At least, not who he wanted to be.
Until noon on the fourth day, when his phone finally broke the silence with a "ding-dong."
A push notification from a travel app:
"Off-the-beaten-path tours in Country T, only 3,000 per person. Escape the city noise, find poetry and paradise."
Chen Rang stared at the screen.
Blue ocean. Golden beaches. Locals in floral shirts waving with warm smiles. No familiar streets, no trace of Lin Xiao—just strange, fresh scenery.
His throat tightened, like something long stuck had finally found a way out.
Escape.
Yes, he needed to escape.
Escape this city full of Lin Xiao's traces, escape the suffocating expectations and disappointments, escape this worthless version of himself.
He told himself: Go to Country T, change the setting, and you can "start over."
The moment that thought sprouted, it grew like weeds, wild and uncontrollable.
He jumped up from the bed, kicked aside the empty bottles. They rolled across the floor with a harsh clatter, like mocking laughter, but he didn't care anymore.
He opened his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, searching for guides to Country T.
The forums were full of "trap warnings" and "must-see spots," endless walls of text that made him irritable.
He scrolled page after page, until one obscure comment caught his eye:
"If you want to see the real Country T, find Brother Li. He's a local Chinese guy. He'll take you to untouched villages with no tourists, cheaper and freer."
Attached was a WeChat ID, with a profile picture of a middle-aged man in a floral shirt, smiling with a simple, trustworthy look.
Chen Rang hesitated.
He had always been a rule-following guy, even on trips—he only dared stick to official guides, never tried private guides like this.
But thinking of Lin Xiao's words, his five years of "no plan," and the temptation of "starting over," he gritted his teeth and hit "Add Friend."
He wanted to gamble—that this trip could save him.
The friend request was accepted instantly.
A warm greeting popped up, casual but just right:
"Hey, bro, planning a trip to Country T? Let me tell you, those tourist traps are all scams! I'll take you to places with mountains and rivers, real villages where locals live. You'll never forget it, I promise!"
Chen Rang's palms sweated as he gripped his phone.
He cautiously asked about the route and the costs. Brother Li answered fluently, even sent a few videos of the villages—bamboo houses built along the hillside, kids chasing butterflies along the fields, mountains ink-dark in the distance, so quiet you could hear birds singing. No trace of commercialization. Exactly the escape Chen Rang imagined.
"When do you want to go?" Another message from Brother Li popped up, with a smiling emoji.
"I'll book your tickets and hotel. All through local channels, way cheaper than the apps. You'll save money and eat better."
Chen Rang glanced out the window.
The rain still hadn't stopped. The gray sky pressed down heavy, like his endless days.
He took a deep breath, as if making a life-changing decision, and typed:
"Next week. Please help me arrange it."
After the call, he began packing.
Opening the closet, he pulled out couple's T-shirts and scarves that Lin Xiao had bought. Every piece carried her scent. He couldn't bear to throw them out, but couldn't stand to see them either. So he stuffed them into a box under the bed—burying the past he didn't want to face.
In the end, his backpack only held two T-shirts, one pair of jeans, and the photo album. He tore out the page with their photo, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash. The rest of the pages he shoved deep into the bottom of the backpack—like hiding away all the memories.
The night before leaving, he called his mom.
"How long are you going? Alone?" Her voice was nagging, full of worry.
"Is it safe there? I heard abroad can be dangerous. Don't get too close to strangers. Remember to check in with us every day…"
Chen Rang held the phone, his throat clogged like with cotton. Fighting the lump, he tried to sound relaxed:
"Mom, I'm just going to clear my head. I'll be back in two weeks. Don't worry, I'll take care of myself."
When the call ended, silence filled the living room again.
He looked at the lonely ring on the table and suddenly felt absurd—twenty-eight years old, and for the first time, he was being this impulsive. Like a gambler, betting everything on an unknown trip, on the illusion of "starting over."
The day of departure, the sky finally cleared.
With his backpack on, Chen Rang stood in the airport terminal, staring at the electronic board flashing "Flight to Chiang Mai, Country T." He couldn't tell if what he felt was relief or anxiety.
He pulled out his phone and texted Brother Li:
"I'm at the airport. See you when I land."
"No problem!" The reply came instantly, just as warm:
"I'll be waiting at the exit, holding a sign with your name. You'll spot me right away!"
As the plane took off, Chen Rang leaned against the window, watching the city shrink below.
The familiar buildings, streets, rivers—all fading into blurry streaks of light.
He closed his eyes and whispered to himself again and again:
Chen Rang, stop thinking about the past. Once you get to Country T, you can start over. You'll become a better version of yourself.
He didn't know that this "start over" he longed for was nothing but a carefully woven lie.
That this trip he thought would save him wasn't leading to poetry and paradise, but to a bottomless trap, a hellish abyss.
Three hours later, the plane landed at Chiang Mai Airport.
Following the crowd, Chen Rang stepped out of the terminal. The hot, humid air hit him, laced with strange spice scents. He frowned, a little uncomfortable, scanning the exit—
And there he was. Brother Li, holding a sign with "Chen Rang" on it.
He looked exactly like the photo—floral shirt, mustache, warm smile.
Except, in the split second their eyes met, something sharp flickered in his gaze. It was gone so fast it could've been an illusion.
"Bro! Finally, you're here!" Brother Li greeted him enthusiastically, grabbing his backpack with surprising strength.
"Must've been tiring. Let's drop your stuff at the hotel first. Tonight I'll take you to the night market—try some local tom yum soup. You'll love it!"
Wrapped up in that sudden warmth, Chen Rang's anxiety faded a little.
He followed Brother Li into a taxi, watching the tropical plants flash by, the colorful houses, the unfamiliar faces and streets. A spark of hope lit up again—maybe, just maybe, this trip really could help him, really could let him "start over."
He didn't see Brother Li, in the moment he turned to fasten his seatbelt, quietly pull out his phone.
Fingers tapped quickly on the screen.
In a chat labeled "Scarface," Brother Li typed a single line, so different from his cheerful tone just seconds ago:
"The goods have arrived. Process next week."
Message sent. Phone tucked away.
The warm smile returned to his face as he turned back to Chen Rang:
"Bro, our place is close to the night market. Easy to walk around at night…"
The taxi rolled into the dusk, wheels grinding over strange streets, heading toward the unknown.
Chen Rang watched the scenery slide past the window, completely unaware—
From the moment he stepped onto this land, his life had already veered off its track, plunging into a darkness he couldn't even imagine.
And that "start over" he dreamed of?
It was only the beginning of a nightmare.