Chapter 122: Second Work

Zhao Jing is a cultural worker and a research scholar whose main work is documenting famous scenic spots and cultural heritage sites across various regions.

In the first half of her life, she visited many such sites, both within China and abroad.

Within China, these include Lushan, Dujiangyan, Tianyi Pavilion, and Liu Hou Shrine.

Abroad, she visited fewer places, but she had traveled to Europe for research—Paris, London, Egypt, among others—primarily to explore the diversity of world cultures.

Therefore, her study is large, filled with many precious documents and materials.

This time, Li Heng came to Gansu not only to visit his aging parents’ friend Li Li, but mainly to access her collection of materials.

The next day.

After breakfast, Li Heng first went to the inner ward to visit Li Li, but no matter how loudly he called, the man simply stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, offering no response.

Li Ran wiped her father’s body with a damp towel and said, “My dad hasn’t eaten in three days. Sometimes he’s lucid, sometimes confused—he probably doesn’t recognize you anymore.”

Li Heng had seen this before; in his past life, he’d witnessed countless cases of aging, illness, and death, so he instantly understood the situation.

Leaving the room, Li Heng found Zhao Jing. “Auntie, may I see your study?”

To his surprise, Zhao Jing asked directly: “You’ve finished reading your father’s books, so now you’re eyeing mine, right?”

Li Heng smiled and remained silent, acknowledging it.

Zhao Jing leaned forward, studying him closely, then suddenly asked seriously: “Run’e said you’re a great writer—she bragged about you in three letters. Do you think I’d fund the son of my enemy?”

Li Heng knew she was joking; he remained calm and replied, “I’m also the son of Comrade Li Jianguo.”

Hearing this, Zhao Jing frowned, paused for a long moment, then smiled. “You’ve inherited your mother’s cunning—you’re young, yet you already know how to exploit human weaknesses. Speak up: what do you want in my study? Preparing for your next novel?”

Li Heng didn’t deny it. “I have some inspiration, but I need vast amounts of material to flesh it out.”

Zhao Jing asked curiously, “Related to famous scenic spots and cultural heritage sites?”

Li Heng said, “It would help me greatly.”

Zhao Jing glanced at the group chatting outside the door, then lowered her voice. “It’s not impossible—but I have one condition.”

Li Heng asked, “What condition?”

Zhao Jing said, “Marry Li Ran.”

Li Heng’s eyelids lifted, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Isn’t Sister Li already engaged?”

Zhao Jing shook her head, her tone indifferent. “It’s temporary. In less than six months, he’ll be her ex-fiancé. I know my daughter too well.”

Li Heng almost laughed—he thought, Only a mother truly knows her child; you understand her perfectly.

He refused: “I’m sorry, Auntie, but I already have a fiancée at home.”

Zhao Jing didn’t believe him. “Who?”

Li Heng said, “Chen Zijin.”

Zhao Jing seemed to know her. “That Chen girl? The one who went to Jingcheng? The Chen family that made your mother furious?”

Li Heng’s face darkened with awkwardness, but he gently reminded her, “I just came from Jingcheng.”

Hearing this, Zhao Jing stared at him for a long time, then turned and walked toward the study. “Fine. Fate is fate. I couldn’t have your father, and now I can’t have his son either. Looks like all my decades of effort will end up benefiting you.”

Li Heng said nothing and followed her into the study.

At a single glance, he fell in love with it—the shelves overflowed with books and materials, ancient and elegant, carrying a faint scent of ink.

Zhao Jing watched his expression. “Do you like it?”

Li Heng answered honestly. “I do.”

Zhao Jing said, “Then feel free to read. If you can’t finish in time, make a list—I’ll have someone send the books to you.”

“Huh?” Li Heng was stunned, involuntarily exclaiming.

Zhao Jing looked around the study, speaking at length. “Unless something unexpected happens, your Uncle Li won’t last much longer. And Li Ran is too impulsive. After they leave, I’ll be tired of this place—I plan to return to Changshi, where I belong.”

Some of these books—I’ll give them to you as a gift. When you write something good, remember to show it to me.”

Li Heng fell silent for a moment, then said, “Alright.”

In the days that followed, Li Heng stayed in the study, occasionally accompanying his English teacher and the clueless one on short trips with Sun Aimin and Li Ran to nearby villages, but spent most of his time absorbing materials.

When he read alone at home, with Li Ran as his guide, his English teacher and the clueless one found no boredom—they wandered through the streets and alleys of Lancheng, eating delicious food, observing local customs, and enjoying themselves thoroughly.

Each time, they brought back a portion of the food for Li Heng, then went out again the next day, repeating the cycle endlessly.

On the sixth day in Gansu, Li Li passed away.

The scene was deeply moving.

As he neared death, Li Li suddenly regained clarity, gripping Zhao Jing’s hand tightly and struggling to speak: “I—I’m leaving. I can’t stay with you anymore. Go back to Shaodong. See him. I don’t blame you. You’ve stayed with me all these years—I’m content.”

These were his final words. After speaking them, as if his last wish had been fulfilled, he turned his head and let go of life.

Zhao Jing had cared for her bedridden husband for years, believing she wouldn’t grieve, wouldn’t cry—but in the end, she collapsed beside the bed and wept for a long time, her eyelids swollen, until others finally pulled her away.

Following Li Li’s wishes, no rituals were performed. A simple memorial service was held, and he was buried in the low hill directly across from the house.

Li Ran mourned for several days. After all funeral arrangements were complete, she found Li Heng: “Mom said you’re interested in cultural heritage sites, and your new book is related to them. I’m going with Sun Aimin on an archaeological trip—will you come?”

Li Heng asked, “Where?”

Li Ran said, “Dunhuang, Crescent Moon Spring.”

Li Heng’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go. I’ll join you.”

Saying this, he hurried off to find his English teacher and the clueless one.

At that moment, Li Ran grabbed him. “Mom said you refused to marry me?”

Li Heng sighed. “Don’t joke.”

Li Ran nodded vigorously. “She just lost her husband—she’s acting out. You should understand. But you really are the great writer ‘December’?”

Li Heng remained silent, acknowledging it.

Li Ran crossed her arms behind her back, circled him three times, then said, “No wonder Mom was so devoted to your father. He must’ve been a refined man. I’d like to meet him someday—what was his charm?”

Li Heng blurted out, “You’ve never seen a photo of my father?”

Li Ran nodded, then shook her head. “I saw one as a child, but I don’t remember clearly. Later, when we moved, Mom lost a box—everything inside was gone. Dad was so happy he drank a full liter of Erguotou.”

Li Heng fell silent.

In the following week, the group bid farewell to Zhao Jing and traveled to Dunhuang’s Mogao Caves, experiencing the chants of monks, the sound of wooden fish, sutra recitations, the laughter of pilgrims, fluttering banners, the wind over the cliffs, flowing water, hoofbeats, and camel bells.

Seeing Li Heng utterly absorbed in Buddhist culture, his English teacher finally asked the question she’d been wondering: “You’re taking so many notes—are you preparing for a new book?”

Li Heng grunted, “Yes.”

With her suspicion confirmed, the English teacher shed her casualness. From then on, she stayed close beside him—handing him water when he needed it, watching the tip of his pen as he wrote, feeling a quiet peace within, as if her spirit had been elevated.

The clueless one and Li Ran were both outgoing and lively. Since Li Ran wasn’t beautiful, Zhang Zhiyong felt no psychological pressure, and they got along exceptionally well.

Seeing the English teacher resting her chin on her hand, watching Li Heng write his reflections, Li Ran whispered to Zhang Zhiyong: “Is that really your teacher?”

Zhang Zhiyong turned to look at Wang Run. “Yes, why?”

Li Ran said, “It feels… strange. Doesn’t seem right.”

Zhang Zhiyong turned again, studied her for a moment, then scratched his head. “What’s strange? You think our teacher is too attentive to Lao Heng?”

Li Ran said, “Exactly that feeling.”

“Oh! I thought it was something serious. You’re overthinking. My teacher has always favored Lao Heng—since long before I can remember. It’s always been like this.” Zhang Zhiyong didn’t find it odd at all.

Sensing Li Ran and Zhang Zhiyong glancing his way repeatedly, Li Heng, having just finished writing “Daoist Tower” and “Mogao Caves,” put down his pen and rubbed his aching wrist.

“Teacher, aren’t you worried about gossip?”

Wang Run was still savoring the beauty of his words and didn’t immediately respond. “What gossip?”

Li Heng glanced at her, then looked away, gazing into the distance. “Nothing.”

But Wang Run spoke again. “Why? Are you afraid?”

Li Heng paused, then shook his head. “I’m not afraid. I’m just worried I’ll drag you into trouble.”

Wang Run let out a cold laugh. “Even if there were something, would Zhang Zhiyong dare say a word—even if he had ten pairs of balls?”

Hearing this blunt remark, Li Heng flushed. After taking a few calm breaths, he changed the subject: “After we finish the desert tomorrow, I suddenly want to visit Dujiangyan, then detour to Yongzhou’s Liu Hou Shrine before returning home. Will you and the clueless one come with me? Or will you head straight back to Shaodong?”

Wang Run asked, “The college entrance exam results are coming out soon. Don’t you want to go back and check?”

Li Heng shook his head. “It’s rare to be out. My writing momentum is strong—I don’t want to rush back. As for the results, I can call my homeroom teacher or Sun Man.”

Wang Run stared at the back of his head for a long while, then said, “No rush. Let’s see the desert first. I’ve never seen one—I’m curious.”

“Alright.”

There are paths in the desert, but none here. Far off, a few crooked footprints led the way. Following them, Li Heng’s group finally struggled up the Singing Sand Dunes and reached Crescent Moon Spring.

That night, Li Heng told the clueless one about his plan to head south. Li Ran and Sun Aimin were nearby.

Before the clueless one could respond, Li Ran excitedly grabbed her camera. “Dujiangyan! Great place! I’m going!”

Then she voted for Sun Aimin too.

Li Heng asked Zhang Zhiyong, “What about you?”

Zhang Zhiyong didn’t answer. First, he rummaged through his money pouch, counted his cash, then said, “Boss Heng, I’ve got enough for now—but what about the English teacher? Will she come? If she doesn’t, it’s unsafe for her to return to Shaodong alone.”

“I’ll go.” A voice came from outside the door. The door opened gently. The English teacher, her hair still damp from her bath, stepped in and extended her right hand toward Li Heng. “Give me two sheets of manuscript paper. I need to write a letter.”

“To your friend?”

“Don’t ask what you shouldn’t.”

Fine—she was being mysterious. Li Heng took a small stack of manuscript paper from his bag and placed it in her hand.

Wang Run took the paper and returned to her room. After closing the door, she curled up at her desk for a moment, then began writing:

Shuheng, long time no see. How are you? Are you well?

Today I walked the dunes and visited Crescent Moon Spring. Along the way, I reflected deeply—but my literary talent is insufficient. My inner sense of beauty doesn’t reach even one-tenth of the elegance in his writing. I’ve decided to follow Li Heng to Dujiangyan to broaden my horizons, then detour to Yongzhou’s Liu Hou Shrine.

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(Already updated ten thousand characters.)

(End of chapter)