Your Distance

90.1 - Final Chapter (2/2)

Bai Changyi read the letter three or four times before putting it back in the envelope.

About half a month later, he received a box of smoked sausages, with a note attached to the box. It was in Ting Shuang’s handwriting, saying it was the sausages he’d learned to make during his stay in the farm, and that they were for Bai Changyi to eat.

Bai Changyi received a total of ten letters in January. Ting Shuang pretty much maintained his frequency of writing a letter every two days, telling Bai Changyi about trivial matters.

Once, when he was milking sheep, it took him a long time to realise that what he was milking was a male sheep, and that he was not squeezing something that could produce milk… He then spent half an hour washing his hands.

Another time, he went mountain climbing and encountered a blizzard. He was trapped on the mountain with his companions overnight. Everyone huddled together behind a huge boulder, mustering the energy to continue speaking, and waiting for hope.

Early the next morning, the blizzard stopped, and they saw a huge herd of deer passing by the other side of the boulder. Everyone had held their breaths as if they’d merged to become one with the still, snow-capped mountains.

After receiving the letter about the blizzard, even though Bai Changyi knew that Ting Shuang had made his way down the mountain safely, he still called him and gave him a scolding.

When he answered the call, Ting Shuang was crossing the Alps from Austria into Italy. On both sides of the road were towering, snowy mountains, and clouds hung at just half the height of the mountains. He listened seriously to the scolding before rolling down the car windows so that Bai Changyi could listen to the roaring wind outside together with him.

“Bai Changyi, did you drive through the Alps like this in the past?” he raised his voice to ask over the wind.

“Yes.” Bai Changyi said a little resignedly, “But Ting, at that time I didn’t think anyone would worry about me.”

Ting Shuang quickly said, “I will never do dangerous things again.”

Bai Changyi said, “Think about me before doing anything.”

Ting Shuang closed the window and slowed the car down, replying with a low “mm”.

On the first letter in February, was a stamp from Florence.

Bai Changyi received the letter in the mailbox when he left house in the morning, and only opened it in the office–

Babe,

I’m learning how to do latte art in a masterclass about coffee. In the evening, I played the guitar in the cafe and chatted with the people there.

The place I’m staying at now is right above this cafe. My neighbour is an art history student. She brought me to see the relief sculpture on the entrance of the Baptistery of Saint John, and to look at the difference between the works of Pisano and Ghiberti.

She also does art herself, and wanted to hire me as her human model for a day, but I refused.

I think my figure isn’t as good as yours.

I visited many art galleries and museums, but I don’t quite remember those artworks. What I remember instead was on the streets of Florence. An old lady covered in paint was on the stone pavement, painting. She was painting a part of Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus”.

When I passed by in the morning, she was painting. When I passed by again on a run by the river in the evening, she was still painting, looking as if she was almost finished.