They left me alone at the station when they handed my ticket to someone else, but his expression changed after my calm reply.

 

Here is the complete English translation of Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3:

Part 1

At 6:17 in the morning, Qin’s message destroyed my three-year relationship in a single sentence: “I canceled your ticket and gave it to Wang Zhuang. Take the train instead.”

For a few seconds, I stared at my phone as if the Chinese characters had suddenly turned into an unfamiliar language. In the trunk of the taxi lay my half-open suitcase, with a small brass crane tied to its handle—a gift from my grandmother, who had told me never to lose my way. I was rubbing that very crane between my fingers when the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.

— “Miss, are you cold? It’s summer, but you’re shaking.”

— “No,” I barely managed to say. “My destination just changed.”

The phone lit up again.

“Wang Zhuang has never flown before. Why can’t you make a small sacrifice?”

That sentence hurt even more than the ticket cancellation. Qin Yi knew I had been looking forward to this trip for three years. We were supposed to go to Lhasa together, he was supposed to take a picture of me in front of the Potala Palace, and tell me what I had been waiting to hear since childhood. Now, he had given my place to his mistress, treating me like an extra piece of luggage.

Suddenly, glowing words appeared in the air. They weren’t written on my phone screen. It felt as if invisible spectators were evaluating my life with live comments:

“Ah, now the second woman is going to make a scene.”

“Qin will finally realize how sweet Wang Zhuang is.”

“She will arrive humiliated by train, while the real couple enjoys Lhasa.”

My heart tightened. Those words described my life like a script where I always lost, always forgave, and always ran after him. It felt as though no one believed I could ever make a decision for myself.

Train tickets were almost sold out. There was no direct route to Lhasa in sight. On the station app, I found a small compartment ticket on a train bound for Xi’an. It was expensive, didn’t match the original plans, and Qin wasn’t expecting me there.

I bought it.

— “Take me to the train station instead of the airport,” I told the driver.

— “Are you running late for your flight?”

I locked my phone screen.

— “I’m not flying anymore. Today, I’m not going where people expect me to go.”

The city streets receded behind us as the glowing text flashed faster:

“Why isn’t she arguing?”

“She probably wants to get Qin’s attention.”

I smiled bitterly, still holding my grandmother’s brass crane in my hand.

Qin Yi and I had grown up on neighboring streets. When he was fifteen, he begged me not to enroll in a better school because he was afraid of being left behind. For three years, I tutored him, corrected his exams, and subordinated my desires to his future. Then Wang Zhuang appeared—a girl who had never traveled, never flown, and could experience everything for the first time.

Qin began showing generosity toward her while being stingy with me. On my birthday, he kept me waiting while taking Wang Zhuang for a late-night drive. He canceled my movie ticket because Wang Zhuang thought it was too expensive. Whenever I protested, he would reply:

— “You’re strong, Tan. She’s fragile.”

The train departed at 9:40 AM. Qin sent one last message: “Tell me which train you’re on. We’ll wait for you in Lhasa.”

I turned off my phone.

This time, I wasn’t heading toward him. I was heading toward myself.

That evening, in a hotel room in Xi’an, I turned my phone back on. Twelve missed calls from Qin awaited me, along with a new photo posted by Wang Zhuang—a hotel bed, Qin’s reflection in the window, and the caption: “Fate chose our path for us.”

Below the photo, Qin had written a single line: “Tan, you’re still coming, right?”

Right then, someone knocked on the door. A woman’s unfamiliar voice called out from the hallway.

— “Tan, I know you’re inside. This folder concerns your future…”

The door handle slowly moved downward…

Part 2

The door handle went all the way down, but I had already thrown the deadbolt. Inside the room, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator broke the silence, alongside my breath catching in my throat.

— “Who are you?” I asked.

— “I’m a friend of your mother’s. Please, open the door.”

I recognized the voice. It was Ms. Lin, an old acquaintance working at the university who often helped my mother review academic documents. I cracked the door open slightly. She held a dark green folder in her hand, with a small white index card attached to its edge.

— “Why did you come here?”

— “Your mother asked me to bring this to you. She said Qin doesn’t know anything about it.”

I looked at the folder as a strange chill ran through me.

— “Doesn’t know what?”

Ms. Lin glanced into the room.

— “Sit down first. You shouldn’t hear this over a phone call.”

I sat at the table. The brass crane was still in my pocket, its sharp wing pricking my skin.

— “Tan, you’ve been accepted to Peking University.”

I heard the words, but couldn’t process a response.

— “What did you say?”

— “The official offer letter was sent three days ago. Full scholarship, housing, and a research position. Your mother asked me to personally verify the documents before you said anything to Qin.”

Joy didn’t wash over me immediately; at first, I felt only emptiness. My entire life, Qin had convinced me that our paths had to be bound together. Yet here I was, already accepted to a university in a city where I would have to go without him.

— “Does he know I submitted an application?”

— “No. You told me you advised him to apply to the local university himself. But these documents state something else.”

I opened the folder. The first page bore my name, complete with a stamp and signature. The second page listed an address in Beijing. My fingers went cold.

My phone rang. It was Qin.

— “Answer it,” Ms. Lin said.

— “No.”

— “Why?”

— “Because for the first time, I have news I don’t want to share with him.”

The call cut off. Then a message arrived: “Wang Zhuang is upset that you’re acting like this. Don’t ruin our trip.”

I realized he hadn’t even asked how I was doing. He cared only about preserving the narrative of their perfect getaway.

I spent the next few days traveling through Xi’an, Lanzhou, and Dunhuang. I ate alone, got lost several times, and tasted sauce so spicy at a local market that tears welled in my eyes. The vendor laughed and told me:

— “Traveling alone hurts at first, but later it gives you a story.”

This time, my tears weren’t just from the chili peppers.

Qin called at least once a day. One evening at the Dunhuang station, I finally picked up.

— “Where are you?”

— “On the road.”

— “You need to come to Lhasa. Wang Zhuang wants to see you.”

— “If she wants to see me, she can call me herself.”

— “Stop making childish scenes.”

— “I’m not making a scene. I’m just no longer doing things I don’t want to do.”

A silence stretched over the line.

— “Who changed you like this?” he asked.

— “Probably the person who always forgave you instead of valuing herself.”

I disconnected the call. My palms were shaking, but I didn’t dial back.

Over the course of nine days, Qin and Wang Zhuang posted dozens of photos from Lhasa. Standing hand in hand in front of the Potala Palace, smiling at temples, eating from a single bowl. Their happiness was staged so meticulously that it no longer looked real.

For the first time, I saw my life existing without them. Sitting in the sands of Dunhuang, I realized my dream was to visit Lhasa, not to be Qin’s accessory.

On the day I finally arrived in Lhasa, my mother sent a photo of a letter.

“Peking University has officially confirmed your enrollment. Qin’s mother is asking if you two will celebrate together.”

I stared at the photo for a long time. Then I looked up the address of Qin’s hotel.

That evening, I stood outside his door. Wang Zhuang’s laughter echoed from within.

I knocked.

Qin opened the door, shock written across his face.

— “Tan? Why are you here?”

— “I came to say goodbye.”

— “What is that supposed to mean?”

I pulled the green folder from my bag. His eyes darted from my face down to the folder.

— “Before you open this, let me tell you one thing,” I said.

Wang Zhuang appeared behind him, trying to force a smile.

— “Tan, we were just…”

— “I know,” I interrupted. “Now I want both of you to see who I am when I no longer beg you to stay.”

I unlatched the green folder and reached for the first page…

Part 3

I laid the first document on the table. The scent of ginger brought in from a restaurant filled the room, but suddenly everything felt tasteless and cold.

— “This is the official acceptance letter from Peking University,” I said.

Qin didn’t move.

— “What?”

— “A full scholarship. Dormitory housing. A research position. I’m moving to Beijing in September.”

The glass in Wang Zhuang’s hand froze mid-air, a drop of water trickling down its side.

— “But you applied to the local university,” Qin said.

— “That’s what you assumed.”

— “Why didn’t you tell me?”

— “Because I knew what you’d say—that I should stay close to you, that our plans were more important, that a good person doesn’t abandon the one they love.”

Qin grabbed the folder as if he could tear the reality out of my hands.

— “This must be a mistake.”

— “My mother and Ms. Lin verified it directly with the university. It’s no mistake.”

Wang Zhuang turned to Qin.

— “Did you know she submitted this application?”

— “No,” he replied quickly. “But this doesn’t change anything. Tan always acts impulsively.”

— “Impulsively?” I let out a light laugh. “I spent three years arranging my life around your plans. The first time I choose my own path, it’s considered impulsive?”

Irritation flared across Qin’s face.

— “If you want to go to Beijing, go. But don’t try to punish me with this.”

— “I’m not trying to punish you anymore. I’m simply no longer waiting for you.”

In that exact moment, the glowing words returned to the air:

“The real hero needs to fight for her now.”

“He can’t let the second woman walk away.”

“Tan will regret this soon.”

I closed my eyes. For the first time, those floating voices didn’t bother me; I saw only a pathetic helplessness in them, as if someone still believed my independence was merely a test for Qin’s affection.

— “We’re returning from Lhasa tomorrow,” Qin said. “Come back with us. We’ll sort everything out.”

— “No.”

— “Just like that?”

— “Just like that.”

Wang Zhuang asked softly:

— “Qin, did you really cancel her ticket for me?”

He couldn’t answer.

— “Tell me,” she repeated.

— “You had never flown before. I wanted to make it a beautiful memory for you.”

— “At her expense?”

For the first time, her voice lacked the gentle, sweet tone portrayed in her photos. Qin looked toward me as if relying on our past history to shield him.

— “Tan, you came here anyway.”

— “Because this journey belonged to me, too.”

I closed the folder. Qin’s phone rang, his father’s name flashing across the screen. He answered, and within seconds, all color drained from his face.

— “What happened?” I asked.

Qin lowered his voice to a whisper.

— “Dad, I told you everything was settled… No, I didn’t handle Tan’s paperwork… No, she wasn’t supposed to find out…”

Wang Zhuang turned slowly to face him.

— “What paperwork?”

Qin hung up, his hands shaking.

— “Tan, did your mother tell you something else?”

— “Nothing besides the offer letter.”

— “This is all just on paper. If you go to Beijing, our relationship is over.”

— “Qin, our relationship ended the morning you gave away my seat to someone else.”

Heavy footsteps echoed outside the hallway. Ms. Lin entered alongside two men, one of them carrying a briefcase stamped with the university’s official seal.

— “Tan, you need to know that Qin sent a letter to the university in your name claiming you were waiving your acceptance.”

The entire room fell dead silent.

— “What?” I gasped.

Qin whirled toward me.

— “It was temporary! I just wanted us to talk first!”

Ms. Lin pulled out a second document.

— “We intercepted the letter this morning. But we discovered something else: that letter carried Qin’s digital signature.”

Wang Zhuang set her glass down hard.

— “You tried to cancel her future?”

Qin backed away.

— “I just wanted Tan to stay with me.”

Those words damaged his stance far more than any confession could have.

Just then, an incoming call from an unknown number rang on my phone. A woman’s voice answered—frightened and hushed:

— “Tan, I’m the accountant for Qin’s company. There’s another document filed under your name. If you don’t withdraw it today, the blame for everything will fall on you…”

The call disconnected before I could even ask what document she was talking about…