Midnight belonged to the countryside.
By then, even the wind had grown quieter.
The last bus had long since returned to the county station. Farmhouses tucked themselves behind closed gates, their courtyard lights extinguished one after another until only scattered windows remained awake across the hills. Somewhere in the distance, water flowed unseen through an irrigation channel, steady enough to be heard whenever everything else fell silent.
A narrow country road wound through the darkness.
Its faded white markings appeared briefly beneath the beam of a bicycle light before disappearing behind it again.
Yè Yī rode without haste.
The rhythm of the pedals never changed, neither did his expression.
His backpack rested comfortably against his shoulders, carrying little more than a flashlight, a bottle of water, and a change of clothes. Nothing unusual. Nothing that suggested he expected trouble.
The phone call from Lǎo Āyí replayed itself more than he cared to admit.
"There are people in your family's old house."
"Blue lights..."
"Under the floors..."
He had spent the train ride convincing himself there had to be an ordinary explanation.
Curious trespassers.
An electrical fault.
A frightened old woman allowing imagination to outrun reason.
Every explanation sounded reasonable yet none of them survived for very long.
The countryside gradually replaced the last traces of town.
The road narrowed until bamboo crowded both sides, their leaves brushing softly against one another whenever the breeze wandered through. Moist earth carried the scent of spring rain, and somewhere deeper in the hills, frogs called from flooded rice fields hidden beyond the darkness.
Another scent slowly found him.
That of old timber, rust and something faintly scorched.
He recognized it before he realized he had slowed the bicycle.
The smell never really left this place.
The village appeared around the next bend.
Its tiled roofs rested quietly beneath the moonlight, familiar without ever becoming ordinary. Stone walls enclosed small courtyards where apricot trees and vegetable patches slept beneath the night. Laundry poles stood empty. Wicker baskets leaned against old doorways exactly where they had been left before sunset.
Most homes had already gone dark.
Only one porch lamp still glowed near the village clinic.
As he passed it, the light clicked off.
The street surrendered completely to the night.
Yè Yī continued toward the old district.
He hadn't grown up here.
Hangzhou had become home long ago.
Even so...
the villagers had never treated him like an outsider.
The first time the orphanage director brought him to the ancestral residence, word had somehow spread through the village before they finished unlocking the front gate.
People had appeared one after another with the effortless curiosity that belonged only to small places.
"The Yè family's boy?"
"He's studying in the city?"
"Such a quiet child."
He remembered answering very little.
The villagers had answered enough for everyone.
After that, he found himself returning whenever university breaks gave him a few spare days.
Sometimes during Qingming.
Sometimes after examinations.
Sometimes for reasons he never bothered explaining, even to himself.
The manor remained empty.
The village did not.
Lǎo Āyí always seemed to know when he had arrived.
She would appear carrying something warm before he had finished sweeping leaves from the courtyard.
When persimmons ripened, she filled his backpack until he insisted it wouldn't close.
When winter arrived, it became roasted sweet potatoes wrapped in newspaper.
In spring, freshly steamed buns.
She had spent years insisting university students never ate enough.
He had stopped trying to convince her otherwise.
Accepting the food required less effort than arguing.
The memory lingered for only a moment before the road curved once more.
Ahead...
the ancestral gate emerged from the darkness.
It still stood.
Time had stripped away much of its black lacquer, revealing weathered wood beneath decades of wind and rain. The carved Yè family emblem remained in the center, though its once-proud lines had softened until the crest resembled little more than a shadow pressed into timber.
One gate stood slightly open.
Not broken, just simply left that way.
Yè Yī stepped off the bicycle.
Gravel crunched softly beneath his shoes.
The night felt unusually still.
Even the insects had fallen silent.
He rested one hand against the handlebars and walked toward the entrance.
Something made him stop.
Not a sound but the absence of one.
The countryside was never completely silent.
Tonight...
it was trying very hard to be.
His fingers tightened around the bicycle.
A hand caught the rear wheel.
Firm and calm.
Just enough to stop it from rolling forward.
Yè Yī turned immediately.
A young woman stood several paces behind him as though she had always intended to be there.
She wore dark trousers tucked neatly into well-worn boots. A black-and-cream hooded cardigan rested loosely over her shoulders against the night's lingering chill. Dark curls framed her face, moving gently whenever the breeze reached them.
She released the bicycle.
One corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
"Midnight bicycle rides usually end with bad decisions."
Her eyes drifted toward the manor beyond the gate.
"This one's aiming surprisingly high."
Yè Yī said nothing.
His gaze moved over her with quiet precision.
Her boots were clean.
Not spotless, but clean enough that she hadn't crossed the muddy fields surrounding the village.
There was no flashlight clipped to her belt.
No phone in her hand.
Yet she had approached him without making enough noise to disturb the gravel.
Interesting.
Only after satisfying those observations did he ask,
"Who are you?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing."
"You stopped me."
"I did."
She nodded, perfectly willing to admit it.
"Fair."
A brief silence settled between them.
"My name's Violet."
Nothing more.
No surname.
No explanation.
Yè Yī noticed.
He offered neither his own.
The breeze slipped through the half-open gate, carrying with it the scent of old timber from somewhere deep inside the manor.
"If you're with the police," he said evenly, "you're late."
Violet looked down at herself.
She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve before raising an eyebrow.
"Do I look official enough to be police?"
"No."
"I'd be disappointed if I did."
The answer arrived so naturally that it almost sounded rehearsed.
Almost.
Yè Yī looked back toward the manor.
"Then you shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you."
Neither voice carried hostility.
Neither sounded defensive.
They simply arrived at the same conclusion from different directions.
Violet stepped closer to the open gate.
Moonlight stretched quietly across the empty courtyard beyond.
For the first time since they met, the smile left her face.
"You really don't remember this place."
Yè Yī frowned.
"What?"
She continued looking into the manor, not at him.
At something only she seemed able to see.
"You don't remember."
It wasn't a question.
It was certainty.
His grip tightened around the handlebars.
"What are you talking about?"
Only then did she turn.
Her eyes studied him for a long moment, as though comparing the man standing before her with someone she had expected to find.
Then the warmth quietly returned to her expression.
"Nothing."
A heartbeat passed.
"...Yet."
Without another word, Violet stepped through the gate.
She didn't ask him to follow.
She didn't look back to see if he would.
She simply disappeared into the sleeping manor as though she already knew its paths.
Yè Yī remained where he was.
The bicycle stood quietly beside him.
He could still leave.
Return to Hangzhou before morning.
Tell himself Lǎo Āyí had simply worried too much.
Pretend the strange woman who somehow knew he had forgotten pieces of his own past had never appeared.
It would be the sensible decision.
He had always preferred sensible decisions.
His eyes settled on the half-open gate once more.
Then on the darkness beyond it.
At last, he pushed the bicycle forward.
The front wheel crossed the threshold first.
The rest followed.
Behind him, the old wooden gate shifted gently beneath the night breeze.
Neither of them turned to watch it settle back into place.
The manor welcomed them with the same silence it had guarded for generations.
Somewhere beyond its weathered walls...
the past had been waiting.
It had waited years already.
A few moments more would change nothing.
Not yet.