Kafka, You and Me

By Ding Xiaolong

Translated by Gao Yuan & Robin Gilbank

Proofread by Hu Zongfeng

This isn’t the first letter I’ve written to you, but it will definitely be the last.

There’s no greeting or formal address, nor any of the format typical for a letter. That’s because I’m tired of so-called “formalities.” I’ve even left out your name - I can’t bear to hear it, let alone write it down. K, the abbreviated version of your name is also your favorite literary character. Kafka’s Joseph K: the K who was exiled to a foreign land, the K who was judged guilty, the K who could never reach the castle. Kafka is your favorite author, and you’ve often said you are the K under his pen. Kafka, among all the writers you've read, is the one with whom you feel the closest connection. I’ve read your three essays on Kafka. Yes, I’ve read everything you’ve published. In the past, I was always the first reader of your work, your first editor, and your first critic. You said my opinion mattered the most to you. That made me cautious and anxious. I couldn’t merely praise you, as it would do neither of us any good. My job was to express my thoughts with precision. Over the years, I honed myself into this role and even started to enjoy it. But now, I am no longer worthy of it.

Before writing this letter to you, I reread the ninety-six letters you sent me in the past. They were all handwritten, and the warmth of your words still seems palpable to the touch. Those letters appeared to flow like delicate petals across the paper. The earliest one is dated October 12^th 2001. Back then, I was repeating my studies at Luming High School and was engulfed with fear about the future - terrified of failing the college entrance exam again, scared of being thrust back into the abyss of life. To a certain degree, your letters were the lifelines that saved me from drowning. At that time, you had already been accepted onto a prestigious program in journalism at the top university in the provincial capital. You said you would wait for me in that city, fully confident that I would gain admission into my dream university as well. The day I received your first letter happened to be the same day my mock exam results came out, and my overall ranking was disappointing. I didn't dare tell anyone about it. During the evening study session, I couldn’t focus on my books, so I took out some paper and poured out all the grievances from the bottom of my heart, with tears dropping onto the pages. These blossomed into melancholic flowers. After two periods had elapsed, a seven-page letter was composed. Upon finishing, I stared out into the deepening night, feeling much more at ease. The next afternoon, I posted that long letter to you. You probably didn’t realize it, but that was the first letter I had ever written. After that, I occasionally received letters from you. In these, you described the miracles of your daily life, your thoughts and experiences, and expressed your concern about and encouragement for my studies. Whenever I felt lost, I would write to you, pouring out my grievances. I saw you as another ocean, and writing to you felt like engaging in a deep conversation with another me. Each time after sharing, I found a brief yet profound peace. As long as you were there, I feared nothing. During that dark, sunless year, your presence was a glimmer of light to me. Even then, I vaguely sensed that my future life would be closely intertwined with you, despite the fact that you never mentioned love or affection in your letters. Every word you wrote to me seemed to be a metaphor about love. Fortunately, after nearly a year of torment, I was accepted into another first-tier university in our province. The morning I received the admission letter, I wasted no time in sharing the happy news with you. You said, “You’re finally free, finally taking off.” I replied, “I don’t want to do anything right now; I really just want to see you.” That afternoon, you took the bus into the county town. We talked a lot and watched a newly-released movie together. As the movie was ending, you held my hand and kissed me on the face. To this day, I remember how that fire consumed all of the barren land in my heart. That summer, you came to see me seven times. Summers were so long back then, and partings were so painful, but at least there was always the promise of our next meeting.

Right now, we don't have any plans to meet again. I find myself living in the prison house of our memories, longing to break free but unable to find the key to unlock the door. You took that key with you. Right now, I'm just a prisoner of time.

I dreamed of you again last night. Since you left, almost every night has brought dreams of you in which you occupy my heart while not actually being present. In these dreams, I'm aware that I am dreaming, yet I resist waking up - these dreams feel more real than reality itself. They've become my sanctuary. Were it not for dreams, I wouldn't know how to navigate a world without you. It's only in the realm of memory that I can see your face more clearly.

That was the most challenging time during our senior year. You were the top student in our class, while I hovered around the middle. After the first school-wide monthly exam, you ranked second in the whole class, and I came in thirty-ninth. When the results were out, our principal had the class monitor post the rankings on the left side of the blackboard, gazing at and scolding each and every one of us like an inspection machine. The headteacher asked us to leave the classroom and then rearranged our seating according to the results. By then I had grown used to such rules, and being a middling student seemed to suit me best of all. The headteacher called your name out second. What surprised me was that you chose me as your desk mate. The moment when you shouted my name, I felt like a spotlight had suddenly been directed onto me by mistake, especially since we hadn't talked much before. Anyway, I followed you back into the classroom. You let me select our seats, and I picked the second row of the second group - a spot I considered golden. You took the chair by the aisle, and I sat alongside you. That afternoon marked the beginning of our time as desk mates.

During those initial days, we exchanged few words. The turning point came during an early morning study session when you slipped me a note, asking whether I could lend you ten yuan because you had rushed out without your wallet. I dug into my bag and slipped the money to you under the desk. When our hands briefly touched, my face at once flushed red and I was unable to meet your gaze, as if there was an unattended fire before my eyes. After the study session ended, you asked if I wanted to grab some breakfast at the cafeteria. I hesitated for a moment, then nodded and joined you. On our way back to the classroom, you asked me why I hadn't talked to you much, if it was because I disliked you, or if I regretted us sharing a desk. Your questions made me chuckle, and I replied, "You're top of the class - there's not much we weaker students can discuss with you." You paused and said, "Your English is great, and with a little improvement in math you could really boost your grades." I sighed, "Math is not my thing. I just don't know how to do better at it." You smiled and said, "From now on, I’ll take charge of this." In those quiet moments, I caught a whiff of the faint, green scent of early summer from you. At first, I thought it was just a joke, but you took it as a promise. Whenever I ran into something difficult in math, you would always patiently help me to understand. One fall afternoon, you handed me your math exercise book with a surreptitious grin, saying, "This is my precious volume of know-how. I've never lent it to anyone before." I teased you to the effect that "I'm not that interested. I'm not trying to become an oriental kung-fu master." In spite of my words, I opened your exercise book and found detailed mind maps and problem-solving tips relating to every chapter. It took me quite a while to grasp the content, and I broke in a book of my own, copying everything from yours, whether I understood it or not. Under your guidance, I slowly began to appreciate the subtlety and pleasure of mathematics. During the third monthly exam, I finally passed the subject, and my class ranking jumped seven or eight spots. To celebrate this historical moment, I invited you to dinner outside at a restaurant of your choice. You picked the mutton soup with flatbreads, your favorite. It was my first time dining out with you, and we talked about our worries. When we left, I realized you had already paid the bill upfront. It wasn't until years later that I learned that this one dinner cost you as much as three days' worth of meals.

Maybe you didn't know it, but having you around made my senior year less tormented and fearful than I had imagined. Days passed by like flipping through the pages of a book - most were forgotten, but some grew mossy with time in my heart. One evening after dinner, we took our usual stroll around the playground, something that had become almost like a daily routine or even a kind of ritual by then. I suddenly asked why you had chosen me as your desk mate. You whispered, "If I tell you, promise not to be annoyed." I smiled and nodded. You looked thoughtful and said seriously, "Because you're the most special one in my eyes, even a bit mysterious." I chuckled and urged you to continue. You raised your voice a touch, adding, "And, you're the prettiest girl in our class." I pretended to stay calm, "Ah, so it was because of my looks? Now it all makes sense." You then seemed a bit flustered and quickly added, "It's not just about looks! You've read so many books, are knowledgeable about music and movies - all the things I'm clueless about." I brushed it off, "Those are just idle things. Useless. Right now, grades are what matter." You teased how "Apart from studying, I know nothing. You should help me to catch up." I smiled and didn't say any more. As we left the playground, the night deepened. You tentatively held my hand, and this time, I didn't pull away in the dim light.

That moment we held hands was a turning point in our relationship. Neither of us acknowledged it openly, but we both understood that we were no longer just classmates. In that dim, oppressive atmosphere, we couldn't exhibit any signs of breaking free from the herd, fearing we'd be seen as outcasts by our classmates. We saw the line dividing us, yet we dared not cross it, only waiting in that land of promise. Some classmates caught wind of what was going on between us and gossiped behind our backs, though we never admitted to anything, seeing it as a test of our spirits. Once, during my period when my body was a mess and the pain was conquering me, the Chinese Language teacher called out my name in front of the whole class, asking me to answer her question. I stood up and shook my head. The teacher said, "It’s all thanks to Li Kai’s generosity that you are sitting in such a prime spot. At this critical moment, you still manage to be distracted in class. If you don't get into university, what will you do?" She paused, then added, "Sit down quickly, don't block the view of the students behind." I returned to my seat, tears streaming down my face, even conscious of the sound of my heart breaking. I didn't explain anything because self-esteem and fear held me back simultaneously. After I sat down, you reached under the desk and held my hand, without breathing a word. That warmth melted the ice in my heart. Throughout all these years, I have never forgotten the sound of the snow falling outside the classroom that morning.

I can vividly recall the day I first took you to the internet cafe. It was a Saturday morning in the latter half of our senior year in high school. You confessed to feeling weary of studies, and even of life itself. You were unsure about how to vent your gloomy depression. And so, I decided to introduce you to the world of Internet cafes. They had just started to gain popularity in our small town, and sneaking in there was our way of avoiding the watchful eyes of teachers and parents. You were hesitant at first, but I insisted on showing you that realm. At the Morning Star Net Cafe, I obtained a card for both of us and led you upstairs to sit down together, feeling as if we were refugees going out to beg. You were completely clueless about the Internet back then. When the computer screen flickered to life, you subconsciously flinched. Your clumsiness satisfied my vanity as you had always been the one guiding me through daunting math problems. Now, confronted with all the unknowns of the digital world, you were like a fish out of water. Patiently, I led you by the hand and taught you how to surf the web, stream music, watch movies, and even helped you set up your own QQ and Sina blog accounts. Your QQ username, a simple capital “K”, was my suggestion. Years have passed by, yet you've never changed that online name, almost as if it's become an oracle of our destiny. That day we played online for fully four hours, then after leaving the cafe, and you quietly whispered to me, "This is between the two of us, don't tell anyone." I nodded in agreement. From then on, we occasionally roamed the web together. You also recorded some of your thoughts on your blog, perhaps with me as your sole reader. Back then, you might not have realized it, but you were my closest confidant. We talked about everything except our relationship - we were more than desk mates, classmates, or friends, yet not what is referred to as lovers. During those challenging days, our untitled bond shielded me like a warming hearth amid the winter cold.

Maybe you didn’t know it, but I was jealous of you at that time - sometimes even envious. You always seemed to be able to solve those impossible math problems so effortlessly, while I felt completely lost and as if I were facing an abyss or had no means of escape. Your confidence only deepened my own sense of inferiority, which was profound and depressing. Once, while you were explaining a problem in function to me, you sounded slightly impatient. After you had finished, you asked if I understood and I nodded. Then you asked me to explain it back to you, and I snapped, "I told you I got it." Maybe you didn't sense the subtlety of my mood. Then you added, "As long as you can explain it clearly, I can be sure you understand." I roared, "Whether I get it or not is none of your business!" You froze, said nothing more and returned silently to your work. We didn’t speak for the next three days, and those were the most agonizing days of my senior year. I felt like I was pushed to the edge of a cliff behind which was the blue sea of life and death. I wanted to talk to you but couldn’t relinquish my self-esteem. During an evening study session, you passed me a note: “Let’s not have this cold war anymore. It’s all my fault.” I wrote back: “You’re not at fault. I’m to blame. I’ve too much of a heart of glass and let down your kindness.” We grinned at one another, and the knot in our hearts dissolved. After the study session, we walked three laps around the track. Before we parted ways, you kissed me on the cheek. It was the first time you kissed me, and even now, I can still recall the moonlight and the fluttering in my chest.

The countdown on the blackboard about the college entrance examination was inching forward day-by-day, but my heart grew calmer and more at peace. With your help, my math scores improved from the mock exam, consistently being around 100, and sometimes even hitting 120. Based on the ranking system at the school, gaining admission to a first-tier university seemed within reach, and I promised my parents I could get into a prestigious institution. You, on the other hand, were a bit more anxious. Despite consistently ranking in the top five of our grade, you being accepted into Peking University was no foregone conclusion. After all, were our county to send even one student to Tsinghua or Peking University each year that would be hailed as a major news story. The night before the entrance exams, I slept soundly while you were awake for most of the time. Those dream-like two days flew by, and then it was time to estimate our scores. I applied to a local normal university, while you applied to another first-tier university in our province. We promised to meet in the provincial capital in September. However, fate had other plans. My essay veered off-topic, resulting in a very low score that held me back from the threshold of the first tier. The only second-tier university I applied to was a popular one in Beijing, and I didn’t get in. The morning I found out, I locked myself in my room, collapsing on the bed. My eyes were swamped with tears that wouldn’t fall free. When I finally emerged, I felt like I had shed an old skin. I heard from others that you had gotten into that top university. I never received a call from you, and I didn’t even have your contact information. Maybe you didn’t know it, but that whole summer vacation I waited for your call. One day, it suddenly dawned on me that you and I were already on different paths. A world of assuredness and brightness awaited you, while an unknown kingdom of darkness was what lay in store for me. For the first time, I confronted the true face of that darkness. The only way to stop fearing the dark was to become at one with it. Behind the choice of this rebirth was the need to forget you.

One afternoon many years later, we met again and finally talked about the time you disappeared. You told me that not being admitted into your dream university made you feel like you had let everyone down, including yourself, and that the world had lost its light. So, you chose to disconnect from reality, spending most of your time at home in Meng Village and occasionally going to the Internet café in town to play games or watch movies, losing yourself in the virtual world. It wasn’t until you started university that you began to come to terms with what you perceived as your failure. It was at this moment that you picked up your pen and wrote that first letter to me, me who was still living far away in our county, preparing to retake the college entrance exam.

As darkness threatens to engulf me now, I recall our time as desk mates, and those glorious days of sneaking off to the Internet café. Hence, I log into my long-abandoned QQ account and find you again under that simple "K" – the you from back then. Our last conversation, saved from seven years ago, was full of wishes that we might each take care of ourselves, tinged with love. I click on your now forever offline personal icon and discover that long ago you changed your status to include a quote from Kafka: "Every true piece of art is a document and a testimony."

Kafka was your favorite writer, and the most prominent spot on your bookshelf was always reserved for his complete works and a photo of him. More than once you told me that Kafka was the writer closest to your heart, that what he wrote were your life and thoughts. Once, you even told me that you were working on a Kafkaesque piece. When I asked what you meant by “Kafkaesque”, you replied, "My job and my life are Kafkaesque. The world around me is Kafkaesque." 

Now, as I turn on your laptop and search through folder after folder, I finally find one named "K" on the E drive. When I open it, there's just one file consisting of a single line: "K goes to the basement every night, where he has a secret just for himself." After closing it, I search through the other files on different drives but find nothing else. I’m certain this line must be the opening of your Kafkaesque story. What is the secret? You've left this mystery to me.

This is my last letter to you. If you receive it, please tell me what K's secret is, and where that basement is, because I can no longer bear the fact that I've lost you. I need a basement to shelter in too. Language no longer offers me any refuge.

Xixi has fallen asleep. With nobody to talk to, I can only reopen this document to write to you again. What I initially thought would just be five or six sentences has turned into such a lengthy letter. It's only after I have written these words that I feel you haven't truly left us; you're accompanying us in a different way. It's all an illusion now, but now this is all I have to live on. 

I've been sorting out our photo album. There are not many pictures of us together, just sixteen in total. I've been gazing at them repeatedly, each memory behind the image feels like it happened just yesterday. I shared the stories behind the photos with Xixi. After hearing them, he asked, "When is Daddy coming home?" I replied, "Daddy is waiting for us in a faraway place." He paused, then asked, "Ma, what exactly is death?" I explained, "Death is another form of existence." Xixi sighed, "I don't want to die now. I want to keep on living." I hugged him tightly and reassured, "You have a long, long life ahead of you." Xixi is only five-and-a-half, and your absence has left him somewhat melancholy. Yes, I can't break down, lose control, or leave him. I must stay and keep Xixi company as he grows up, even though I'm uncertain about how to face the fierce floods and wild beasts ahead. Since you left, I've been manacled by the chains of love.

It's been fourteen years since we took that first photo. Back then, I was a freshman in college, liberated from the dreariness of high school life, basking daily in the joy of new experiences, my eyes radiant. After starting university, we spoke almost every day, sharing our thoughts and experiences. Once the military training course for freshmen students was over, you invited me to meet in Xi'an for a weekend of sightseeing. That day I dressed myself up especially, prompting my roommate to ask if I was meeting a boyfriend. I just smiled without answering. We met at Xiaozhai and ate Hunan food for lunch. Later, you took me to the Big Wild Goose Pagoda. By then, you had already become an amateur photographer, using the money you earned from tutoring to buy your first camera. At the foot of the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, you asked if I wanted to take a photo together. I nodded. You handed your camera to a passerby and asked them to snap it for us. After visiting the pagoda, we climbed the ancient city wall and then ascended the Bell Tower. Atop the Bell Tower, right in the heart of the ancient city, we looked out over Xi'an, surveying the incessant flow of people and vehicles. The moment you took my hand, time seemed to stand still. I waited for you to say something, but you hesitated, your eyes filled with a misty uncertainty. After leaving the Bell Tower, we wandered around nearby Greater Eastern Avenue. I bought you a black sweater, and you gave me an English version of The Age of Innocence purchased from a bookstore. Once we were done with dinner, you escorted me back to the campus. Before saying goodbye, we embraced and kissed. Finally, I told you what was on my mind, "So, what exactly am I to you?" You paused for a moment, then chuckled, "Silly, you're my girlfriend." I pretended to be annoyed, "But you've never said it officially. What does this vague title even mean?" You laughed and replied, "I don't rely on words; I go in for action." Before I could respond, you knelt down in front of me, solemnly asking, "Lin Yiran, will you be my girlfriend?" Taken aback by your sudden gesture, I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Eventually, I nodded and answered, "Yes." We held each other tightly. In the rhythm of your heartbeat, I could register my own longing. That night, I even dreamed of us getting married on a tropical island. But during the ceremony, you vanished into the mist without a word. Perhaps from that moment on, I sensed the oncoming storm. I've never shared this dream with anyone. In another dream, I buried you on this island.

Since we officially started to go steady, my dangling heart found its resting place. I gradually revealed the genuine me to you, peeling away the layers like an onion. I became increasingly demanding, to the point where a single inopportune word was enough to make me hang up or walk away, leaving you behind. I knew you'd swallow your pride and come back for me. Your love spoiled me. Only with you could I shed my pretense and do as I willed. Most of our time together was joyful, and many of the nooks and crannies of Xi'an holds preserve memories. Unlike me, you had to manage your university fees and living costs single-handedly. Beyond your scholarship and internships, you had to go around taking on tutoring jobs for money. You never complained much in my presence, occasionally saying two or three sentences before stopping. Only now am I starting to understand the hardships you faced. If I had understood you better back then, maybe I would have been a warmer, more caring partner. But it's all too late now. Death has taken everything. Looking at these photos, time has passed in a blur, leaving behind only memories, some tenuous, even the product of invention. None of it matters now. You've left us, and that's a fact I can't change. If time could be turned back, that afternoon I would have held your hand tightly, never letting you leave our home.

After graduating, you passed the grueling civil service entrance exams and finally landed a job as a social affairs reporter at the daily newspaper. I knew this wasn’t your ideal choice. Your real dream was to get a master’s degree and then a doctorate, eventually becoming a university lecturer and living the life of an academic. But you had to consider reality - your parents back in Meng Village were getting older. Your father had high blood pressure, your mother had trouble walking, and you had a younger brother to support. So, after graduation, you went back to Meng Village for a couple of weeks before returning to Xi’an, whereupon you rented a cramped room on the top floor in Yuhua Zhai. The first time I visited, I was shocked by how small and dim it was: no bathroom, no wardrobe, just a tiny portal like a prison cell. Noticing my reaction, you laughed and said, “Don’t worry, this is just temporary. Once I’ve saved up, I’ll get us a nice, sunny place. Just wait for the surprise.” That night, back in my dorm room, all I could see was darkness. I couldn’t imagine what our future would look like.

About three months later, you moved out of that cramped top-floor room in the urban village and into a shared two-bedroom apartment in a residential area. At that time, I was stressed about my graduate exams, so I often stayed over at your place. You were incredibly supportive, always encouraging me to aim higher. Despite your own taxing job, you often made dinner and breakfast for me, easing my worries and helping me focus on my studies. When my revision wasn’t going well, I would vent my frustration on you, but you always yielded to me and never argued back. During both the entrance exams and the interview, you waited for me at a nearby café, cheering me on. The afternoon I received my acceptance letter for graduate studies, you seemed happier than I was, even shedding tears. I knew those tears carried some of your own regrets. That evening, you cautiously asked me about my future plans. I said that after graduating, I intended to become an English teacher at a high school in Xi’an. You said your future would be empty without me. I replied, "Silly, I’ve already given my heart to you." You didn’t say anything more but hugged me from behind, driving away the darkness from within me. In that moment, as we became one, I detected a glimmer of illumination amid the blackness.

Three years of graduate studies flew by, and I thought our relationship might end when they did. But it was not to be. Instead, our bond grew deeper and more intricate. During those three years, two fellows tried to win my heart, but I turned them down. It seemed impossible to open the door to anyone else and to invite others to enter my world. I had become so accustomed to your love that it propelled my life forward. After earning my master’s degree, I passed a series of rigorous exams and landed a job teaching English at a prestigious high school. The summer of my second year on the job, we took a trip to Phuket. On the island, you knelt on one knee, pulled out a ring, and proposed. I nodded and slipped on the heart-shaped band. This trinket has stayed with me, like an indelible scar. With its help, I may see the sea we once gazed upon together. I can hear your heartbeat all over again.

After we got back from Phuket, I took you to meet my parents for the first time. I had already told them about us. During dinner, my dad suddenly said, “We’re okay with you getting married, and we won’t ask for a dowry like some country families do. But there’s one condition: you need to have an apartment in Xi’an so my daughter won’t have to feel she’s stepped down a rung.” I saw the panic on your face. You said, “Uncle, I’ve saved up some money over the years and can handle a deposit.” My dad smiled and changed the subject. The second month after our return, my parents drew on their savings to buy us a three-bedroom, two-sitting room apartment in Xi’an, paying for it outright. Naturally, the deed was in my name only. When I told you about it, you were silent for a moment, then said, “I understand completely. If it were my daughter, I’d do the same.” On your face, I could detect an unfamiliar and unsettling expression of resignation and quiet impotence. At that moment, you became so strange and beset with panic.

After we got married, we moved into our new home. I thought it was the start of a new life, but problems just kept on coming, wave after wave. Now, I hate to think back to those gray days filled with petty squabbles. The love we had carefully built up was gradually worn down by both parties. Before I used to always hear people say that “marriage is the grave plot of love”, but never took it seriously. Since we got married ourselves, I gradually began to understand the profound meaning of that saying. In our repeated clashes, words became invisible blades, piercing each other's hearts. Yes, the heart is the first to die. Our hearts grew further apart even as our bodies remained bound together. Especially after Xixi was born, we were conscious of one other's suffocated breathing in the middle of the night. One time, we had yet another clash about Xixi’s education. Seized by an unknown, irrational anger, I yelled at you, “This is my house, my home, and I wear the trousers.” That sentence shattered you. You turned ashen and said nothing more, just turned around and walked out. When the door closed, my heart broke too. It was the worst thing I’d ever said, but I never apologized for it. Around midnight, Li Jiang brought you back home. You were totally inebriated and collapsed on the bed. That night, you muttered a great deal in your sleep, but none of it was about me. Perhaps from that day, you turned to smoking and boozing and stopped sharing your inner thoughts with me. I was no longer qualified to love you. I could hear the storm approaching, but could only sit there helplessly waiting. You became more of a stranger, seldom quarreling with me, resorting instead to cold war. I tried various means to mend our relationship, but each attempt failed. Eventually, I surrendered to life, focusing on my child and work, retaining no illusions about married life.

Back then, you were facing all sorts of crises at work, feeling that everything you did was meaningless. One day, you suddenly said your job had made you truly understand Kafka and his K - you said that K was in fact you. The job had become a beast, slowly devouring your soul. No matter how much you hated it, you didn’t have the courage to quit. In your spare time, you started writing for various magazines, and I was always the first to read your articles. You said that you needed to save up money to buy us a second home, and I knew then that my past words had caused you irreparable harm. I missed our student days, yet those innocent times were long gone. It wasn't until many years later that I finally understood the significance of the copy of The Age of Innocence you gave me.

Back then, I could already hear the whistle of the impending storm but couldn't find a safe haven for us. In one dream, I pictured you shoving me off a cliff into the ocean, and as I sank further down into the deep, I found a profound sense of peace.

That night at 11:30, I got a call from you. I thought you were going to apologize for our quarrel and for storming out, but instead, I heard a strange man's voice. Before I could speak, he yelled, "Sister-in-law, get to the ER at Western Capital Hospital. My brother's in trouble!" My body shook, and I felt an ominous darkness tugging at me. I pulled myself together, woke up the already sleeping Xixi, dressed quickly, and called a taxi to take us to the hospital. On the way, I held our child tightly, silently praying that this was all just a bad dream. Xixi cried and asked where we were going. I said, "We're going to bring Daddy home." He fell silent, clinging to me, while my tears plopped into the pall around us, blending together with it. The thirty-minute ride felt like it lasted more than thirty years.

When I arrived at ER, I saw three distraught men sitting on the benches outside, their heads bowed. When Li Jiang saw me, he walked over and said, "Sister-in-law, I'm so sorry. We didn't look out for him properly." Then he explained what happened: you had invited them out for drinks and quickly started knocking back one glass after another. No matter how much they tried to stop you, you argued with anyone who intervened. Nobody detected anything awry with you. They thought you were just in a bad mood and needed to drink to let off steam. But suddenly, in the middle of it all, you collapsed, convulsed a few times, and then fell still. Realizing the severity of the situation, they immediately called for an ambulance. After finishing his story, he lowered his head again and returned to his seat. Their shadows seemed to cling to them, anchoring them in place.

The narrow door finally opened, and a blinding light left me nowhere to hide. The doctor pulled me to one side and said, "He is gone. You need to make arrangements." Then he walked away. I thought I’d faint or cry, but nothing happened - not a single tear fell. I took Xixi to see you. You lay there on the bed, covered with a pristine white sheet. The pain had seemingly turned your face serene. Xixi cried out for you, but I held him tightly, not letting him break free from my arms. Before leaving, I touched your face - cold, silent, lifeless. It was the longest, most futile night of my life. Time seemed to drain me by inches as I stared into the vast darkness. I contemplated dying, but I couldn't go through with it. After that night, I felt like a mere husk of my former self.

They brought your body back to Meng Village and gave you a traditional rural Guanzhong funeral. Almost everyone from the village came to say farewell. You were once their pride and joy, and your death simultaneously buried the legend they held so dear. They interred you in the ancestral burial ground on the hillside, beside your grandfather and great-grandfather. After hearing the news, your mother kept herself locked away in a dark room for three days. I tried to talk to her, but she pushed me away and coldly remarked, "I entrusted my son to you, and you lost him." Then she shut the door, her tears fell onto the threshold, scattering, evaporating and then disappearing. She was right - it was my fault. I lost you, pushed you to the precipice, and drove you to your death. If I hadn't fought with you, maybe you wouldn't have gone out drinking, and none of these disasters would have happened. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. We were separated by death, and there would be no more emotional entanglement. Maybe in the moment you left your body, you found true freedom. Li Jiang said your last words at the table were, "Life is too hard; it's better to be dead." You repeated it now and then several times, like a premonition of your own fate. Now you've left us, and the chains of love are mine to bear alone.

We spent a full ten days in Meng Village. The locals kept saying how much Xixi resembled you when you were a child. They shared countless stories about your infancy, childhood and adolescence – at those times I hadn’t become involved in your life yet and you seldom talked about the past. Maybe you did mention a little about these topics, though I didn’t pay much attention. In our relationship, you were the one who listened the most, the one who quietly supported me through the as I reached the bottom-most part of the darkness. Now, there is nothing there; only emptiness. I feel like I’ve fallen into an abyss. When I recall, I can understand that you hardly ever shared your struggles, agony, or despair with me. I was the one always taking, while you were the one who gave without expecting anything in return. After you were gone, this sank in, but it was already too late. You took so much of my soul with you. Without Xixi, I wouldn’t know how to face the world again.

I miss you. I long to talk to you more kindly. I know you haven’t truly left; you live on in a different way within my world. However, I still wish I could see you, just like I did many years ago.

It’s been forty-nine days since you passed away. They say that after the seventh day, the souls of the departed find their rest and move from a place of suffering to one of peace. I hope you’ve found a home of your own.

These days, I've been dreaming of you often, perceiving that you have come back into my life in a fresh way. Even though I know I'm dreaming, I don’t want to wake up. These days, I’ve started reading Kafka, of whom you were so fond. I am slowly immersing myself in his world and the world of his protagonist, Joseph K. K feels a bit like you and a bit like me - maybe it’s a metaphor for our lives.

These days, I’ve also been reading your old diaries, the three volumes I brought back from Meng Village. They reveal a different dimension to you. Back then, you had your little anxieties and doubts, but more than that, you had dreams, promises, and a beautiful vision for the future. I ruminate over every word, not wanting to miss any of your feelings. On the last page, you wrote, “Even though this exam ended in failure, life is a lengthy journey, and I shall have a bright future.” These old pages have become sodden with my tears. It was the first time since you died that I have allowed myself to cry so freely.

There’s so much I want to say, yet it feels like I’m at a loss for words. I’ve written this long letter, but I don’t know where to send it. It’s time to say goodbye, though I’m not really ready. As you’re now a part of the kingdom of my memories, there is nothing that can separate us.

Yes, after finishing this letter, I’ll go and stroll around in the basement you mention in your work. Maybe your story isn’t over but is just beginning. You are K, and so am I. We are all K.

About the Author:

Ding Xiaolong is a professional writer at the Xi’an Literary and Art Creation Research Office. He holds a Master’s degree in Literature from Beijing Normal University and is a member of the China Writers Association. His literary works—totaling over one million Chinese characters—have been published in major literary journals such as Chinese Writers, Dajia, and Youth Literature, and have been widely reprinted in various literary anthologies and selected issues. His literary criticism has appeared in journals including Studies on Contemporary Chinese Literature, Chinese Poetry, and Sichuan Literature. He has also produced approximately 300,000 words in translation. Ding has been selected as one of the “Top 100 Talents” in both the first and second rounds of the Shaanxi Provincial Talent Program. His published short story collections include The Night of the World, Crossing the Sea, and Empty Resemblance. He has received multiple literary honors, including the title of “Outstanding Writer” in the inaugural “Top 100 Talents” awards and the Shaanxi Youth Literature Award.

About the Translators:

Gao Yuan, male, from Xi’an, Shaanxi Province, was born in 1997. He has won the first prize in the Chinese-to-English translation category of the 11th “Helen Snow” Translation Competition, the first prize in the national semi-final of the “Teaching Star” Competition organized by Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press, the first prize in the National English Competition for College Students.