Chapter 11: I’ve Always Been Waiting For You
Song Lingchen’s words were cut off just as they reached his lips. He rolled his eyes helplessly and raised his voice toward the kitchen:
“Little Mumu, no cilantro for my portion, thanks!”
“Dream on! I’m filling it with chopped green onions and cilantro, eat it or don’t!” Jiang Linmu roared back.
Song Lingchen wasn’t angry at being rebuffed. He smiled, shook his head, and sat back down beside Jiang Qing.
Jiang Qing watched as Song Lingchen slowly took his seat.
In the past, one could say they talked about absolutely everything.
Song Lingchen was a frequent guest at the Jiang residence, so familiar he was practically a second master of the house. Over countless weekends and holidays, the three of themâhim, Song Lingchen, and Jiang Linmu, who always clamored to join inâwould squeeze into Jiang Qing’s room, their game controllers clicking and clacking until the early hours of the morning.
When they got tired, they would sprawl out haphazardly on the carpet to sleep, waking up the next day bathed in sunlight and laughing at each other’s sleeping postures. Jiang Qing was never one for a dull, quiet life. Those days of having people to go crazy and mess around with were, to him, the most vivid, bright, and carefree times in his memories.
But everything changed two years ago.
Accidents always strike suddenly. At that time, Song Lingchen was only 21, still carrying a bit of youthful immaturity, yet he was forced overnight to face an empty Song family with only himself left, alongside a massive family enterprise.
All the heavy burdens fell upon his shoulders without warning.
During that period, Song Lingchen seemed like a completely different person. He practically disappeared from Jiang Qing’s life; he rarely answered calls, and his text replies were brief and delayed.
Jiang Qing went to look for him a few times, but all he saw was a Song Lingchen dressed in a black suit, with heavy dark circles under his eyes, surrounded by a group of strangers, processing an endless mountain of documents and work. The Song Lingchen who used to throw an arm around his shoulders and laugh loudly, who would wrestle him for the game controller on the floor, seemed to be slowly vanishing.
Fortunately, he wasn’t completely isolated and helpless. His uncle stepped up at a critical moment, helping him stabilize the crumbling situation, shouldering most of the external pressure and the company’s initial turbulence, giving Song Lingchen room to breathe and grow.
Because the other party’s responses became increasingly brief, Jiang Qing, afraid of disturbing him, gradually let their contact fade.
It was only then that he realized with surprise that he couldn’t help him at all. He couldn’t help him share those pressures, and he didn’t even have the chance to listen to all the suppressed emotions the other party was holding back.
They drifted apart.
He carefully sealed those noisy yet warm days, along with that silent silhouette, deep within his memories.
Just when he thought that period of time and the owner of those memories would be locked away by him forever, Song Lingchen suddenly reappeared in front of him half a year ago.
Jiang Qing had just walked out the door when he was fiercely hugged from behind, a familiar yet foreign scent instantly enveloping him.
“Qingqing! I missed you to death!”
That voice rang in his ears with an exaggerated, deliberate cheerfulness. Jiang Qing’s body stiffened; he almost thought he was hallucinating. He whipped his head around, crashing into a pair of smiling eyes.
The Song Lingchen standing before him was wearing a casual shirt, a familiar yet somewhat foreign smile hanging on his face, as if the heavy weight of the past two years had never left a mark on him.
He looked like he hadn’t changed at all, still just as “cheerful.” He hugged him the moment they met, his movements so natural it was as if they had just parted yesterday, rather than having gone through nearly a year of alienation and silence.
Jiang Qing stood frozen in place, momentarily unsure of how to react or what to say.
He looked at the flawless smile on Song Lingchen’s faceâtoo radiant, and too unreal.
“What? Don’t recognize me anymore?” Song Lingchen released him, playfully waving a hand in front of his face, his tone light and brisk. “Your bro here has survived his tribulation and returned, aren’t you going to treat me to a good meal to wash away the dust?”
He acted so “normal” that all of Jiang Qing’s questions and worries about that year of silence were blocked in his throat, unable to utter a single word.
In the end, he asked nothing. He just looked at him and nodded: “Okay.”
At that moment, he knew Song Lingchen had returned, but the youth who could roll around on the floor without a care in the world and wear all his emotions on his face had perhaps truly been left behind in their memories forever.
Although the time Song Lingchen spent by his side each time he returned was short enough to count on one hand, the distance between them that had once grown so far apart was slowly closing bit by bit.
And right now, this Song Lingchen sitting beside him had faded some of that deliberate act compared to half a year ago, showing a bit more relaxation and authenticity. He would still smile, still mess around, and still deliberately tease Jiang Linmu, but some things were ultimately different.
He looked at Song Lingchen.
I,
Missed you too.
Song Lingchen saw Jiang Qing looking at him, that gaze heavy and deep.
His heart tightened, and he subconsciously restrained his joking demeanor, asking softly, “What’s wrong?”
The living room was left with only the faint sound of running water from the kitchen and the tune Jiang Linmu was humming.
“It’s nothing.” After a long time, Jiang Qing looked away, his voice very light.
But Song Lingchen saw it.
He understood Jiang Qing too well to not know the words hidden behind that “It’s nothing.”
He knew what those two blank years meant. He knew how clumsily he had pushed away all concern back then, how he had drowned in his own pain and chaos, unilaterally severing his closest ties to the past and to Jiang Qing.
He thought he was protectingâprotecting himself, and protecting Jiang Qing from being dragged down by his miserable state. Thinking back on it now, perhaps that was just a form of cowardice.
A year ago, he reappeared, wrapping himself in a layer of packaging called “normalcy.” He thought he had disguised himself very well, but Jiang Qing must have seen right through it.
The other party just didn’t ask anything. Just like today, he silently accepted his return, silently giving him a corner where he could temporarily strip off his disguise.
“Jiang Qing,” Song Lingchen spoke, his voice much deeper than before, carrying a hint of hoarseness.
Jiang Qing raised his eyes to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” Song Lingchen said. This sentence had lingered in his heart for too long, and saying it out loud now didn’t make him feel relieved; instead, he waited for judgment even more nervously.
Jiang Qing’s eyes shifted slightly.
“Why are you apologizing?” he asked.
“For… a lot of things.” Song Lingchen tugged at the corners of his mouth, wanting to pull a smile, but failing. “For those two years. For later… suddenly showing up, and pretending like nothing ever happened.”
He took a deep breath and continued, “Back then… I kind of didn’t know how to face things. Facing everything, including… you.”
Jiang Qing remained silent.
“I know. You don’t need to apologize.”
He paused, then added:
“I’ve always been waiting for you. And now your appearance, your response, has given my waiting meaning.”
Translator’s Note:
- Survived his tribulation (ćˇĺŤć¸äž): A term often used in Xianxia cultivation novels when an immortal survives a lightning heavenly tribulation and returns stronger. Song Lingchen is jokingly comparing his brutal 2-year corporate takeover to surviving a heavenly tribulation!
- Wash away the dust (ćĽé˘¨ć´ĺĄľ): A traditional Chinese concept of hosting a welcoming banquet for someone who has returned from a long journey, to literally “catch the wind and wash away the dust” of their travels.
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