Lin Wanwan in a Foreign Land

Boston.

The November wind had already taken on a biting chill.

A black private car pulled up outside a Victorian brownstone apartment building in the Back Bay area.

Lin Wanwan pushed open the car door and tightened her coat around herself. The driver dutifully lifted two suitcases from the trunk onto the steps.

Su Man got out after her, tilting her head up to look at the old building with its wrought-iron balconies.

The building had aged well, though. The lobby floor was laid with black-and-white checkerboard marble tiles.

"Not bad," Su Man conceded with a reluctant nod. "But I found you a high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows, secured entry, a swimming pool, 24-hour front desk service—way better security than this. Your dad has already called me three times to yell at me, knowing you want to stay alone in Boston—"

Lin Wanwan pulled up the handle of her suitcase.

"Sister Man, this place is enough. I don't need a big house. Living alone in a huge space would just feel awkward."

"Awkward?" Su Man lowered her voice. "With your background, why shouldn't you live somewhere nicer?"

"All of that is my father's."

Lin Wanwan cut her off, her tone calm.

"This apartment—I chose it myself. With my own money."

Su Man looked at her.

"You didn't take Chen Zhi's five million, and you won't use the credit card your dad gave you. What are you even fighting yourself for? It's not like you don't have money—"

"I know I have money."

Lin Wanwan lifted her suitcase over the doorstep, turned back, and smiled at Su Man.

Her face, free of makeup, looked somewhat pale.

"But I want to know—when no one's arranging everything for me—whether I can make a life on my own."

Su Man stood there, watching the girl in front of her, lost in thought.

Lin Wanwan dragged her suitcase to the apartment door and pushed it open.

It was a one-bedroom, but the south-facing bay window let in good light. The landlord had left a gray fabric sofa and an oak desk. The kitchen was stocked with pots, pans, bowls, and dishes.

Tidy, warm. Exactly the kind of place a normal international student would rent.

Su Man walked a lap around the room.

"The furniture's all here... but when in your life have you ever cooked for yourself? When have you ever paid a utility bill?"

"I'll learn."

Lin Wanwan pushed her suitcase into a corner of the bedroom and started unzipping it.

Su Man stood in the middle of the living room, watching this girl who had been pampered since childhood now squatting on the floor, efficiently unpacking, folding each piece of clothing and putting it into the wardrobe.

"Wanwan..." Su Man's nose stung a little.

"Sister Man, your flight back to China is this afternoon. Get to the airport and don't miss your time."

Lin Wanwan stood up, nudging Su Man toward the door.

"Send me a WeChat when you get to Beijing. I'll be on time for next month's online meeting."

Su Man was pushed out the doorway and took one last look at her through the frame.

"Anything—anything at all—call me."

"Alright, alright."

"Promise me. Don't be hard on yourself."

"I promise. See you, Sister Man."

Lin Wanwan waved and closed the door.

With a soft click of the lock, footsteps in the hallway gradually faded away.

The room fell into complete silence.

Lin Wanwan leaned against the door for a long time.

Occasionally, the wail of police sirens drifted in through the window. For the first time, alone in a strange environment, in a strange city, the loneliness rushed in like a tide.

She took off her coat, hung it on the hook behind the door, rolled up her sweater sleeves, and went to the bathroom to find a rag.

She turned on the water, wrung it out.

Starting from the windowsill, she wiped it down bit by bit.

For four straight hours.

Until the sky was fully dark, and the room finally had some faint breath of human life.

Lin Wanwan collapsed onto the sofa in exhaustion, stared at the ceiling for a while, then forced herself to sit up. She pulled over the biggest suitcase and unzipped it.

Clothes, sheet music, toiletries—she took them out one by one.

At the very bottom of the suitcase, wrapped in more than a dozen layers of bubble wrap, was something.

Lin Wanwan carefully lifted it out, found a pair of scissors, and cut through the tape layer by layer.

Inside was a small white ceramic pot painted with a red heart.

In the pot sat a cactus covered in spines.

After more than ten hours of flying and jostling, the cactus looked a little withered, with a few spines on one side snapped off.

The expensive skincare products she could leave behind. But this cheap cactus—she had devoted half her suitcase to protecting it.

Lin Wanwan held it in her hands, walked to the freshly cleaned windowsill, and set it down gently.

She went to the kitchen, poured a small half-cup of water, and slowly watered the dry soil.

The water soaked in quickly.

She looked at the cheap little plant, and her vision gradually blurred.

That morning of May twenty-first. The hotel room overflowing with red roses. The boy who pricked his finger, holding out the cactus as a peace offering. It all flashed through her mind like a movie reel.

"Forget my birthday again, and I'll shove this in your face."

That was what she had said back then.

But now, the roses had long since wilted. And the now-prickly cactus had followed her across half the globe.

Lin Wanwan sniffled, reached out, and gently touched one of the broken spines.

"You have to live well," she whispered.

...

Night had fully fallen over Boston.

Lin Wanwan had finished tidying up the room, and her stomach growled insistently.

She rummaged through her luggage and found nothing to eat except a pack of preserved tangerine candies that Su Man had stuffed in.

She pulled on her coat, grabbed her wallet, and went downstairs.

A 24-hour convenience store stood on the corner of the block.

As she pushed open the glass door, the bell above it chimed.

There weren't many customers inside. Behind the counter stood a large, overweight white woman in her fifties, head down, scrolling on her phone.

Lin Wanwan picked up a sandwich, a carton of milk, and a few toiletry items, then walked to the register.

"Twenty-four dollars and fifty cents."

The woman scanned the barcodes, rattling off a number at top speed.

Lin Wanwan froze for a second.

Her spoken English wasn't particularly smooth, but she could still do basic math. Those items would come to at most fifteen dollars.

She glanced at the register display—two expensive razor charges had been added.

"Excuse me." Lin Wanwan pointed at the screen. "I didn't buy these."

The woman finally looked up, sized Lin Wanwan up.

Seeing this petite Asian girl, she rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with irritation.

"The machine doesn't make mistakes. Pay or leave."

Four months ago, if Lin Wanwan had encountered a situation like this, her first instinct would have been total helplessness.

She would have instinctively stepped back, then looked pitifully toward Chen Zhi.

Chen Zhi would definitely have stepped forward, using fluent English—or, if that didn't work, his fists—to shut the other person up.

But now, Chen Zhi wasn't here.

Lin Wanwan stood still, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat, gripping her wallet tight.

She took a deep breath and met the disdainful gaze of the white woman behind the counter.

“I told you, I didn’t buy these. Please check the items on the counter. If you refuse, I’ll call the police and have them review the surveillance footage.”

Her pronunciation was a little rough, but her tone was unwavering.

The white woman clearly hadn’t expected this seemingly fragile Asian girl to be so tough.

She glanced at the security camera in the store, then back at Lin Wanwan’s unyielding eyes.

“Whatever.”

The woman muttered a curse under her breath, reluctantly tapped a few keys on the register, and removed the extra charges.

“Fifteen dollars.”

Lin Wanwan paid, took her things, and pushed open the door of the convenience store.

The cold wind hit her face.

She let out a long breath and realized her palms were slick with sweat.

But there was a rare lightness in her heart.

She had done it.

Without Chen Zhi, she could still protect herself.

Under the streetlights, tiny white specks drifted through the air.

Lin Wanwan reached out a hand, and a snowflake landed in her palm, quickly melting into water.

It was snowing in Boston.

She pulled her coat tighter, picked up her plastic bag of groceries, and walked back through the thin layer of snow.

At the street corner, there was a commercial building.

On its outer wall hung a massive electronic broadcast screen.

It usually played advertisements, but tonight it was showing an English-language financial news flash.

The female anchor’s voice echoed down the snowy street.

“Chinese AI unicorn DeepSpace Tech has surpassed a valuation of 100 billion dollars, becoming the youngest company in history to reach a 100-billion-dollar valuation.”

Lin Wanwan stopped in her tracks.

She looked up.

On the giant screen appeared a photograph.

Chen Zhi stood at the center of a stage in a navy blue suit.

On the screen behind him stretched a long string of digits: 100 billion.

Even half a world away, even through a screen, Lin Wanwan could see the triumphant, unrestrained smile on his face.

The snow fell harder, landing on her eyelashes.

She tilted her head back and watched quietly for a long time.

Only when the news segment switched to other content did she finally look away.

“Congratulations, Chen Zhi.”

She murmured softly, shoved her frozen hands back into her pockets, and turned to walk into the heavy snowfall of Boston.