Instead of sleeping last night, Zhang Zian conceived countless ways to say goodbye, from crying with his head tucked in to long lyrical narratives. He finally chose the most common way, which was as bland as when leaving home to go to college or work. If things weren't going well outside, he could come back home at any time. It was as bland as if all this is true.
"Is your luggage heavy? Would you like me to take you to the station?" His mother looked at the suitcase. She was like this as well last night, desperately trying to stuff things inside but worrying that it might be too heavy.
"No, it's not heavy. Besides, I'm rolling it anyways, not carrying it. It's fine," he said with indifference, "No need to take me there, your customers will come soon. I can do it myself."
