Chapter 21: My Destiny Has Not Yet Arrived
No wonder, when I watched Journey to the West as a child, the master said that the most difficult trial for Tang Monk was the Kingdom of Women. Back then, Chen Shian didn’t understand; now, he finally has a bit of insight. Whether that ordeal was truly difficult or merely moving is something only Tang Monk himself would know.
After helping him install WeChat, Li Wanyin stepped back, giving him space, and Chen Shian regained his initial sense of ease. In truth, even without help, he could have figured out WiFi and WeChat registration on his own after some tinkering, but with Li Wanyin’s enthusiastic assistance, it certainly saved him trouble.
Soon enough, Chen Shian finished registering his personal WeChat. He simply used “Chen Shian” as his username.
“Aren’t you going to change your profile picture?” Li Wanyin asked.
“How do I change it?”
“Click here, and you can switch it.”
He didn’t have many photos on his phone, only pictures he’d taken of the temple, flowers, and landscapes on the mountain. Thinking for a moment, he chose a sunrise photo he’d taken for his avatar.
Unexpectedly, Li Wanyin burst out laughing when she saw it.
“What’s so funny, Wanyin?” he asked.
“Haha, oh nothing. It’s just that your lifestyle sometimes really reminds me of an old man.”
“Huh?” Chen Shian was confused; he thought the sunrise photo was quite nice! It seemed calm and lofty, peaceful and serene.
“Quick, add me. I want to be your first WeChat friend!”
Li Wanyin was very excited. She recalled her own first WeChat friend was her parents—back in high school, when they bought her a phone and she got her own QQ and WeChat. She wondered if she’d ever been someone’s first WeChat friend; probably not, but now the opportunity was right before her.
“How do I add you?”
“Click here. You can scan a code, input a phone number or username… Here, jot down my number, 1890812…”
Li Wanyin recited her number as Chen Shian typed it in. After searching, a user appeared on-screen with the nickname [Little Echo].
“Is this ‘Little Echo’ you?”
“…Can you not call out my nickname in front of me? It’s embarrassing!”
“So it’s you. Let me see, your status… ‘Days are a gradually unfolding poem, the wind carries faint echoes…’ Hey, hey, hey?”
Before he finished reading, Li Wanyin snatched the phone from his hands. Her face was flushed, full of embarrassment.
“Don’t read my status out loud! It’s been years since I changed it!”
“Alright, alright…”
Chen Shian didn’t know the etiquette of online socializing; he just found it amusing. Was this a glimpse of Wanyin’s inner self?
He smiled, took back the phone, and sent a friend request.
Li Wanyin took out her own phone as well. It was slightly better than Chen Shian’s elderly phone, but not by much. Even with a protective case, signs of heavy use were obvious, and with more apps installed, it lagged terribly.
Money was tight, so Li Wanyin hadn’t considered upgrading yet. She set herself a goal: with her first official paycheck, she’d buy a new phone for around fifteen hundred!
“Hurry, Wanyin, accept my request.”
“I’m on it, don’t rush me. Let my phone catch up first.”
“…”
At last, Li Wanyin accepted his friend request. The user [Little Echo] appeared in his friend list, the first and currently only one.
‘Chen Shian’ sent a [Smiling Face] emoji.
‘Little Echo’ replied with a [Cheeky Panda Head].
The young priest laughed at the exaggerated panda emoji. “Where did you find that, Wanyin?”
“Just save it, and you’ll have it!”
“So that’s how…”
Finding it fun, Chen Shian saved the emoji pack.
The two exchanged a couple of emojis; that counted as greeting each other after adding WeChat. Sitting face to face, it wasn’t so dull as to need chatting online.
“How many friends do you have on WeChat, Wanyin?”
“Hmm… Let me check, over a hundred and seventy!”
“That many?”
“It’s not really a lot. Mostly teachers, classmates, friends, and family.”
“Any romantic interests in there?” Chen Shian asked curiously.
“You priests care about that?”
“Priests can be curious too.”
Li Wanyin was slightly embarrassed, but since Chen Shian was younger, she didn’t overthink it. “Nope. Busy studying during school, now busy job hunting after graduation. No time for romance—my mom’s been nagging me about it.”
“So you’re not in a hurry yourself. I imagine you must have plenty of admirers.”
People who are single at a certain age tend to react defensively when asked about relationships, and Li Wanyin was no exception. She pretended to be mature and shot back, “What about you? I heard priests can marry and have children, right?”
Chen Shian chuckled, “My fate hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Wow, what a sly answer!”
Inspired, Li Wanyin decided to borrow his reply for future use.
They both avoided discussing feelings, focusing instead on learning WeChat.
“What’s ‘Moments’ for?” Chen Shian asked.
“It’s for sharing daily life. Friends can see it, but lots of people don’t post anymore.”
“I see…”
“…What are you doing?”
“Looking at your Moments.”
“…”
Couldn’t he avoid embarrassing her right in front of her?
Fortunately…
“Huh, only the last three days’ Moments?”
“Yep, you can set who can see it. I haven’t posted in ages.”
“What a pity, I wanted to see what your Moments looked like.”
“Nope, not showing~”
After spending half a day together, Li Wanyin felt she’d come to understand Chen Shian a bit. He truly was different from most people—rarely beating around the bush, saying what he thought, but always knowing where to stop. This honesty and just-right manner made him easy to be around.
“Can you transfer money on WeChat?” Chen Shian asked.
“Yes, you can link your card and pay with WeChat. Do you have Alipay?”
“I do. This is just my first time using WeChat, so I’m not used to it yet.”
He thought for a moment. “From now on, I’ll transfer my share of the rent to your WeChat each month, and we’ll split the utilities.”
“Huh, didn’t Uncle Lin say he’d collect your half?”
“He won’t take it from me. You can pay him for both of us.”
“Who is Uncle Lin to you… He treats you so well,” Li Wanyin asked, curious.
“Uncle Lin is an old acquaintance of my master. He does look after me, but I prefer to handle what I can myself.”
“I see. That’s fine. Um… I’m a girl, so I might use more water and electricity. I’ll pay a bit more.”
“No need. That just complicates things. Let’s split equally.”
Seeing him insist, Li Wanyin didn’t fuss further. “Well, if you need help with anything, just let me know! We’re roommates, after all. Oh, did you save my number? Sometimes my phone lags and WeChat might disconnect. If there’s anything urgent, call me.”
“You just recited it to me. I remember.”
“…Seriously? You remember after just one recitation? I have to check my delivery codes several times…”
“1890812… Right?”
“...!!”
He’d only heard it once, and after all that chatting, Li Wanyin was stunned when he recited it back. It took her a while to get out, “Impressive.”
…
Li Wanyin returned to her room, and Chen Shian took his change of clothes for a shower.
Perhaps this was the reality of sharing an apartment: though living under one roof, most of the time, everyone is in their room doing their own thing.
Li Wanyin had a laptop, just as sluggish as her phone, and was busy updating her resume, sending applications, or checking her mailbox for interview invitations. Beside her desk were books she planned to study later for a bachelor’s program, once she found a stable job.
In a world where college graduates are everywhere and diploma holders are looked down upon, she had neither work experience nor connections. She hadn’t chosen a strong vocational major, but listened to relatives and picked Business Management—a major that sounds impressive but, when it comes to hiring, employers hardly glance at diploma holders. Job hunting was predictably tough.
Without air conditioning, Li Wanyin left her door open. When Chen Shian finished his shower, he saw her back at the computer.
The fan beside her stirred her hair as she sat unmoving, the same posture as before his shower. Compared to earlier, her silhouette seemed heavier now.
He didn’t go in, just asked from the doorway, “Are you job hunting, Wanyin?”
“Yes.” She turned around. “Done with your shower?”
“I have. I’ll hang up my clothes.”
He wasn’t wearing his priest’s robe, but a vintage undershirt—looser than a t-shirt, with buttons down the front. This was his usual attire when not in robes.
“You wash your clothes by hand?”
“Yeah, just the robe. Hand washing is quick. How’s the job search?”
“Not great.”
“Keep going. I believe you’ll find a good job.”
“Mm! What time do you go to school tomorrow?”
“A bit after six. Are you working part-time?”
“Yeah, but I wait for the mall to open. I need to be there by ten.”
“So I’ll be out first tomorrow.”
Glancing at the living room clock, Chen Shian realized it was already ten o’clock.
“I’ll go to bed now. Rest well, Wanyin.”
“Mm, good night.”
She didn’t ask why he went to bed so early. For most people nowadays, saying “I’m going to sleep” actually means “I’m going to play on my phone in bed.”
But she guessed wrong this time. Chen Shian truly meant to sleep.
Even in the city, with good signal and WiFi at home, he rarely took out his phone.
Chen Shian turned off the living room lights and went back to his room.
The black cat followed him in, leaping onto the bed and curling up beside his pillow.
“I reflect on myself three times a day. Fat Mo, have you reflected today?”
“Meow.”
He turned off the light and lay down. Under him was a new bamboo mat, over him a new sheet, his head on a new pillow.
He hadn’t turned on the air conditioning; the window was open, letting in a breeze utterly different from the mountain air. Even the night sky outside was unfamiliar.
Thinking back over the day—what he saw, thought, and felt—and pondering tomorrow, Chen Shian’s eyelids grew heavy.
His first journey away from home was going well enough.
He should send his master a dream to let him know he’s safe…
.
.
.